Harry Potter: The Magic Awakens
by LordCaldrin45
Summary: 30 years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts and the death of Voldemort, but all is not well. Harry Potter has vanished, and the terrifying Pure Order has arisen from the ashes of the Death Eaters to threaten the hard-won peace. A new adventure is about to begin, one that will determine the fate of the entire Wizarding World.
1. A New Story Begins

Harry Potter: The Magic Awakens

Harry Potter has vanished. In his absence, the sinister Pure Order has risen from the ashes of the Death Eaters, and will not rest until the Chosen One has been destroyed.

With the support of the Ministry of Magic, General Hermione Granger leads a brave Resistance. She is desperate to find her old friend Harry and gain his help in restoring peace and justice to the magical world.

Following a new lead, Hermione has sent her most daring agent on a secret mission to Egypt, where an old ally has discovered a clue to Harry's whereabouts….


	2. A Hero's Regrets

**I hope you all enjoy this? I always hope that Rowling will release a Next-Gen story about our favorite series (And I'm not talking about that play). I hope you all enjoy this take, please review!**

Hermione Granger was exhausted. She needed Harry, and the list of allies she had were getting thinner by the day, and the ones she could truly rely on were even fewer, especially now that the Ministry of Magic stood on the verge of implosion, of destruction, of complete collapse.

There were times she thought about how foolish they had all been. They had thought that with the final battle, and the death of Lord Voldemort, all things would become right again, that they would build a better world. It was true, the Old Ministry had had a lot of problems. Ministry officials had easily been corrupted, like Cornelius Fudge, and prejudice easily dominated politics, letting people like Lucius Malfoy and Dolores Umbridge walk free, despite all the horrendous things they had done. Things hadn't gotten any better with Rufus Scamander. But at least he had died honorably. That was how Voldemort had gotten so powerful the second time. Not to mention all the creatures that had been treated like dirt, like house elves. She liked to remember when she had started S.P.E.W., how stubborn she had used to be to get people to join. Harry and Ron had tried to support her, but now she knew that they had been trying not to hurt her feelings. She remembered the times after the Battle as she paced.

Things had been good at first. The Ministry had been rebuilt and reformed, and it had been great. The real guilty had been punished, like Umbridge, and more laws had been passed to give more creatures the right they deserved. Harry and Ron had become Aurors, and Hermione had quickly risen in rank at the Department of Magical Law. True, Ron had fallen out and gone to work for George, but it had still been great. It seemed like only yesterday that she and Ron had watched Rose board the Hogwarts Express with Albus for their first year. They had all settled down, and things had ended for the better. For a long time, all was well. Well, things weren't well anymore. They had been fools to think that the darkness had died with Voldemort that day. And now, they and the people they loved were paying dearly for that mistake.

Freedom, for example. The freedom to speak one's mind, to object, to dispute. She sighed. Unfortunately, they had underestimated the magical population. Under-estimated the deeply buried desire of far too large a proportion of the population who simply preferred to be told what to do. Much easier it was to follow orders than to think for oneself. Now, plenty of other races like goblins, vampires, and centuars had a voice. Not to mention, they couldn't completely get rid of those with old ideals. So everyone had argued and debated and discussed. Until it was too late.

Pacing the chamber, she caught a glimpse of herself in a length of polished metal. She knew she looked tired. Of course, some could contribute that to the stress of her job, or motherhood. But, she knew better. She remembered the chaos of the Second War, and all those who had lost their lives in the process, like Fred, Remus, and Colin, as well as all those affected by their deaths. She could not let something like that happen again to any other people. It was her responsibility, and the weight of it was heavy. Too heavy?

It would have been easier if she had help. The kind of help only Harry was capable of providing. Like or not, everyone looked to him, even if she had always been the brains of their group. Just like when they had been running Dumbledore's Army. If he wasn't dead, that is. No, she couldn't believe that. If Harry was dead, she'd know. Now, everyone looked to her to lead.

There had come a hint, a clue. A badly needed clue. Not much, but better than any report that had found its way to her in some time. She would have followed up on it herself, for whom better to search for clues to the location of someone she had known since she was eleven? When she had proposed the idea, the shock of objection on the part of her fellow Resistance leaders could have been heard halfway across the galaxy. Reluctantly, she had conceded to reason. Someone would go in her stead. Teddy and Rose had both tried to volunteer, but Hermione had forbidden it.

The name of a particular agent had been put forth. Her record was no less than remarkable, not to mention that she could hardly argue that an agent scouting solo would draw less attention than a perambulating, well-known celebrity.

Still, there had been some debate. She had just turned seventeen several weeks ago, but she already made a name for herself. Hermione did feel some hesitation, as she was the daughter of an old friend, Oliver Wood. Still, Hermione couldn't help but admire the girl's dedication and skill, especially given the tragic events that had led to her joining the Resistance. So she agreed.

"Finding one man should not, in the final analysis, be so difficult," insisted one of her colleagues. "Even on all the known countries, there are only so many hiding places."

"For an ordinary man, yes," she had replied. "But we're not trying to find an ordinary man. We're looking for Harry Potter. When we were on the run from the Death Eaters, no one could find us."

"Didn't they capture you?" a new recruit had asked rashly, getting angry looks. Hermione had laughed it off, though.

"True, but that was due to a slip of the tongue on Harry's part. I assure you, Harry has gotten much more experienced since then. He won't be easy to find. Especially with all his experience from the Auror Department."

There had been some further argument, especially from other leaders who had remained convinced that the agent chosen to follow up on the slender lead was too young for such a crucial task. Although Hermione had had her doubts, she vouched for the agent. In the end, harmony had triumphed.

Once again she caught her reflection in the metal. It had been some time since she had not prevailed in the course of such discussions.

A thin, knowing smile gleamed back at her. She wasn't the young girl she once was. Her busy brown hair was greying, and her face was more than weathered. No doubt her authority in such matters derived from her shy, retiring nature. The smile faded. No time for sardonic reflection now, she told herself. No time for extended, lengthy discussion. Times were desperate, even more than they were during the terror of Voldemort. The ruthless Pure Order was on the march, threatening to overwhelm the shaky framework of the weak, increasingly vulnerable, and still-developing Ministry of Magic.

Where was the Chosen One? Where was Harry Potter?" She hissed in frustration. After all, all their hopes might depend on the success of this one agent.

"Katharine Wood, you better not fail." She whispered.

 **Enjoy that? Trust me, there's more coming next chapter! Enjoy!**


	3. The Pure Order Strikes!

**Hi! I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter. Update: The official name of the evil organization will be The Pure Order.**

It was nighttime in Egypt. The sky was pitch black, except for the occasional twinkle from stars high in the sky, complete with the full moon. Then, almost like a thick knife, a large looming shape cut over the light of the moon. For its massive size, the vessel was eerily silent. From muggle eyes, the vessel appeared to be a blimp for the Atalon Corporation. However, it was far more than that.

It had been forged and assembled in the hidden factories of the Pure Order, constructed in secret and uninfected by the virus that was the Ministry of Magic. Its devoted and fanatical builders had designed it to be more powerful, more technologically advanced, than anything that had come before it, muggle or wizard. Far superior than its counterparts from the Muggle Great War over a century prior. Certainly there was nothing in the possession of the new Resistance that could stand against the vessel.

Almost invisible when they first apparated from the vessel, their brooms took over the work as they plummeted through the air, sending them shooting across the ground, faster than muggle bullets. Their function straightforward and simple, they had no need of the extensive redesign, as their brooms were unique and top of the line. With all that, the brooms still performed their prescribed role with brute efficiency. The wind whipped on them, but they were unflinching as sand bounced off their masks, which glinted in the moonlight.

As they went about their mundane daily tasks below, the inhabitants below had no idea they were about to receive a visit from four elite squadrons of Enforcers, the first line in the Pure Order's military strength.

On board the miniature fleet of brooms, the eighty black-cloaked soldiers prepared for touchdown. Wisecracks alternated with nervous speculation about what might await them. Surging adrenaline generated nudges and the occasional comradely whack on a neighbor's arm as they flew through the air. They knew one another well, had confidence in their team, and felt certain they could cope with anything the world toward which they were descending could throw at them.

Squad leaders barked commands as the teams kept formation. Several made sure that their wands were secure in their holsters, ready to pull out at an instant. The only noise was the sound of rushing wind as the cloaked figures closed in on their target. Surprise was a key factor. If all went to plan, the mission would be over before it even started. And at long last, the Pure Order would restore order, power and blood purity to the world.

Even here, in this vast stretch of desert, there were smaller villages. More primitive, more rural. No one passing over, or even through Arron would have suspected that it held a secret. Even if they had, they would have found no reason to linger. But this particular village held a secret…

It was a peaceful place, as was the case with most small communities situated in the desert. Some traveled here to fly under the radar for more… questionable activities. Others came here to flee the growing trouble in Europe. Despite the desolation that was apparent at first glance, it boasted its characteristic assortment of indigenous magical beings. Not only did witches and wizards reside there, but other creatures as well, from goblins to werewolves.

Regardless of the absence of much in the way of visible vegetation, the distant isolated hoots and mewlings of nocturnal native animals indicated that life was present even here. A single wind chime yodeling in the occasional breeze provided a tinkling counterpoint to the yelps of hidden sand-dwellers.

With neither the place nor the motivation to hide, a creature that was decidedly non-native flew eastward out of the village. Before settling on a post. It was an owl, dark brown with unique orange markings on its wings. It had an official designation, but its owner preferred to call him Eighty.

Where a human would see only empty night sky, a pair of nocturnal eyes saw several glints of silver. When the glints grew larger in light and number, the owl let out a nervous hoot. The phenomenon he was seeing might signify nothing, except…

The flickering lights was descending in a controlled manner, on what could only be described as a calculated path, and they were rapidly slowing. It looked nothing like prey. The owl let out a nervous hoot before taking off immediately, back towards the village.

In addition to its motley group of mixed magical people, Arron was home to an assortment of used but still valuable muggle machinery and magical artifacts. A fair portion of the village population eked out a modest living modifying and restoring such equipment for resale in larger towns and cities, for both muggles and magical species. As the owl sped past, the occasional human or magical-nonhuman worker glanced up from the task at hand, frowning, bemused by the bird's apparently unwarranted haste as it raced through the community. Then they returned to their work, shrugging with the appropriate parts or artifact, or to back to their shady dealings.

Katharine Wood let out several deep breaths into her hands before she rubbed them and held then over the fire, trying to keep herself warm in the cold, harsh weather of the desert. Her dark brown hair was tied in a ponytail that drooped down her neck. Her weathered jacket did little to protect her from the cold either. Across from her, Filius Flitwick regarded her with a curious look. Although she was fatigued, Katharine tried not to let it show. She owed that much to her host. Besides, she had come a long way through difficult and dangerous circumstances to be in this place, in this moment—all on behalf of the Resistance and specifically on the orders of General Granger herself. She was not about to let any of them down. And she wasn't going to let her family down, or any of the people who had already lost their lives to the Pure Order.

Coming close, Flitwick placed a small leather sack in Katharine's open palm, then covered both with his own, much smaller hand. He smiled softly and nodded.

"Thank you, Professor. You have no idea how many people you're going to help with this." Flitwick chuckled.

"No need to call me Professor, my dear. I'm afraid my days of teaching are long since over. Now, I am merely an explorer. These days I can only do so much. Would that I could do so much more." He sighed heavily. "And there is so much more that needs to be done. But…this will begin to make things right."

As the small hand withdrew, she tightened her fingers around the leather bag. In size, it was small. But, she knew that this piece of parchment could be the difference between victory or defeat.

"Legend says this map is unobtainable," she noted. "How'd you do it? Where'd you find it?"

The older man just smiled, clearly not willing to give up all his secrets just yet. He still had an air of authority about him, even though his days as a professor and Head of Ravenclaw House had ended long ago. He had the look of one who had seen and done much. His hair was completely white, and his face had its fair share of wrinkles. He was very short, although she knew this was due to his goblin heritage. Katharine grinned back at him, accepting it. "I've heard stories about your adventures since I was a kid. My dad and sister talked about you a lot. It's an honor to meet you. We're grateful." Flitwick looked amused.

"You've very much like your sister, Katharine. She was a bright student. She and Oliver would be very proud of you." She turned beet red as she hugged her arms to her side.

"Thank you, Professor Flitwick. The Resistance could use someone like you." the short man laughed.

Flitwick shrugged—an old man's shrug, slow and full of meaning. "I've traveled too far and seen too much. I've lived through two wars already, my dear. I'm afraid my dueling days are long since past me." Kathrine sighed in disappointment.

"The general has been after this a long time," Katharine said.

Flitwick smiled at some secret thought. " 'General.' To me, she'll always be one of my students. Her nose always buried in one book or another." Katharine smiled at that.

"Yeah, but don't call her that," Katharine told him. "Not to her face. She doesn't like it anymore. Really doesn't like it. And she's not someone you want to tick off."

She was about to elaborate when a loud screeching filled the air, and a brown owl crashed through the opening, nearly smashing into the two occupants.

"Eighty? What's wrong?" the large orange owl let out a loud screech. Both occupants looked at each other in one brief instant of understanding before rising immediately.

Katharine had her binoculars in her hands even before he stopped running. Aiming them toward the general section of sky indicated by BB-8, he let the integrated automatic tracker focus on any targets in the vicinity. The device located four almost immediately. Lowering it, he spoke without turning, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Not to be presumptuous, sir, but you need to hide." She said as Flitwick hobbled up beside her. He had already identified the incoming ships by the sound they made as they finished their descent. "Not to overstate the obvious, but you need to leave." He stated. She stared at Flitwick.

Despite the importance of her mission, Katharine found herself conflicted. Not only did she respect Flitwick, she liked him. She could see why her father and the others had praised him. How could she leave him here, to certain death? "Sir, if you don't mind, you should come with-"

The old professor cut her off. "But I do mind, Katharine Wood. You spoke of your mission." Both his gaze and his tone hardened. "Now fulfill it. If they get their hands on it, we're all done for!"

Still, Katharine protested. "With all due respect, some motes are of more importance than others…Professor." Flitwick looked up at her and smiled.

"If you wish to flatter something, flatter my memory. I've lived a long life! Now, Go! Now! Don't worry about me, I've got enough in me for one last fight! For Ravenclaw!" Turning, Flitwick headed off, not looking back. She looked after him with a face of awe. Then, she whipped out her wand.

"Accio Firebolt!" with a swish, her trusted broom flew straight into her palm with a loud smack

She hesitated a moment longer, then whirled and raced toward the far end of the village. Eighty flew above her, keeping pace with her effortlessly. As she ran, she was passed by armed, stern-visaged villagers, wielding weapons from wands to razor sharp swords and knives. How the alarm had been raised, she did not know, just as she did not pause to wonder at how or why such seemingly simple folk had come into possession of so many weapons. Her mind was focused on only one thing: escape. Her mind raced as she sprinted towards the large towering sand hills that dotted the outskirts of the village. She just had to get over the dunes so she could take off without being noticed. She was a sitting duck here, and if she tried to fly in the village, she's get cursed before she could build up speed. If she could get to the dunes and launched into the air, she could be miles away before they knew what happened. She could already hear the roars and shouts as the battle started. Even from here, she could her Flitwick cursing them and roaring spells.

"Come on, you traitors! Come fight a true Ravenclaw!" he roared as he jabbed his wand, deflecting spells and jabbing with his wand, sending a squad flying like cards.

Still, it was over almost before it began. Seeing the hopelessness of further resistance, the villagers began to give themselves up, surrendering in twos and threes. As penned animals panicked and broke free, several Enforcers broke off and began setting fire to the village with well-placed Incendio curses, quickly turning the village into a massive inferno. Katharine gritted her teeth in age as she heard the screams. To her, there seemed no reason for it. But then, to those behind the Pure Order, sowing fear and terror was merely politics by another means. She grunted as she finally reached to the top.

Her angry thoughts were interrupted by a series of loud screeches from the owl. "We're going, Eighty, we're going! Almost there…" she struggled to rush down the hill without stumbling and losing her grip on her broom. She was so focused, though, on reaching the bottom that she was unprepared for the hit that came. A bright blue spell slammed her in the side, sending her spiraling through the air before she slammed into the sand, hard, letting out a loud grunt as her broom spiraled away from her. She whirled to see two Enforcers advancing on her with their wands drawn. She cursed under her breath.

The pair of Enforcers had come up on her unseen. Whoever had planned the attack was too smart to rely on a simple frontal assault. Perhaps these two were part of a preceding suit drop or had simply circled around behind the village.

"Reducto!" the two soldiers leaped out of the way of her counter curse, sending up a large plume of sand. She leaped to her feet, ready to fight.

"Avada Kedavra!" the one on the left roared.

"Protego!" she countered, sending the curse into the sand.

"Rhectomera!" she roared, sending the Enforcer on the left flying into a large hill with a deafning crack, burying the soldier beneath sand

"Incendio!" she leaped out of the way of the fire curse, pointing her wand at the other Enforcer.

"Avada Kedavra!" the Enforcer was unprepared, the curse slamming into his chest, causing him to glow with a bright green before he collapsed. She lowered her wand as she took several deep breaths. Then, several loud screeches made her turn to look at the owl.

"I know, Eighty, we're…" she trailed off when she saw her broom. Or rather, what was left. The Incendio curse may have not hit her, but it had hit her broom, which was crackling with fire like a normal campfire.

"NO! NO!" she cried as she sprinted towards her broom.

In the village, the fight continued as a die-hard group of its inhabitants, perhaps knowing all too well what the representatives of the Pure Order had in mind for them if they surrendered, refused to back down. While the battle was a mismatch, it was not a slaughter, and those villagers who continued to resist gave as good as they got.

Shot straight on with a bright yellow curse, a trooper went down in a mass of shattered armor, ripped flesh, and blood with a loud cry, the blood already staining his black robes.

One of his companions immediately rushed to his side and knelt to render assistance. A torn, bloody glove lifted toward the would-be rescuer, shockingly bare fingers protruding from the torn protective covering.

Faces behind silver helmets stared at one another. With a shock, the trooper who had arrived to render aid to his fallen comrade recognized the one whose life was now bleeding out inside his uniform. They had trained together. Shared meals, stories, experiences together. Now they were sharing death together.

Combat was not at all like the would-be rescuer had envisioned it. He stared in horror at the dying form of his comrade. He tried to help, but he could tell that it was far too late, even if he knew what curse had struck his comrade. A brief, final flailing by the downed Enforcer splattered the newcomer's mask with blood, staining the sleek silver with a dark crimson. Then hand and arm fell, and movement ceased. The second soldier checked, but he already knew the truth. He was dead.

There was no assistance to be rendered here, the second trooper realized. Straightening, he surveyed the chaos in which he found himself. His wand hung at his side, but no spell or curse came to his tongue. He stumbled off, away from his dead comrade and that exposed, pale, pleading hand.

As madness ebbed and surged around him, he wandered through the village, feeling himself more a participant in a historical drama than in an actual battle. The horrific and all too common red stains on the ground contradicted his denial. This wasn't like his training at all, he told himself numbly. Unlike in simulations, reality bled.

Smoke and dust rose from the devastated buildings around him. His trained ears picked up the sounds of distant explosions as well as those close at hand. Crackling flames did not rise from burning sand; they rose from homes, small workshops, storage buildings. As he turned the still-standing corner of a building, movement caused him to raise his wand reflexively. Frightened and unarmed, the teenage girl he found himself confronting inhaled sharply and froze. The expression on her face was one he would never forget. She had a look of pure terror, like who realizes she's already dead. For an instant, they remained like that: predator and prey, each fully cognizant of their respective status. When he finally lowered his wand, she clearly couldn't believe it; she continued to stare at him for a long moment. Then, even in the chaos of the battle, a loud crack echoed through the air. The soldier instantly whirled to look at the source of the sound. His movement broke the girl's terrified paralysis. She whirled and fled into the smoke. He didn't even notice. His attention was focused on a much more important figure.

Tall, dark, cloaked, with its face hidden behind a metal mask, it ignored the still-swirling chaos of the battle to head unerringly in the direction of Flitwick. He knew exactly who that was. Everyone in the Pure Order knew who he was.

Struck by the new arrival's apparent indifference to the enveloping fray, the trooper was startled when a sharp nudge from behind momentarily threw him off balance. A glance found him locking gazes with a superior. The noncom's voice was curt.

"Back to your team, soldier. This isn't over yet." He ordered.

The subject of his ire nodded in recognition and hurried off. wondering what… his arrival might portend, but not daring to inquire. For an ordinary soldier like him, ignorance was not simply an abstract value. It was in the manual. And those who didn't follow the manual didn't tend to live long.

"No! No no no no! Bloody hell!" Katharine cursed out loud. The fire had been easy to put out. But, the damage had already been done. The broom was beyond repair, little more than a charred stick. She was furious. True, brooms could easily be replaced. But, this broom was much more to her than a simple tool. had been her father's, which her sister had used to win her fair share of Quidditch matches. She felt like it had had a bit of both of them in it.

But first there was a far more important matter to attend to than mourning the loss of a family heirloom.

From within the leather bag she had received from Flitwick, she removed an artifact. Its significance far exceeded its size.

"Eighty!" the owl hooted as it landed in front of her, regarding her with his bright orange eyes.

"I've got a mission for you." She took the twine from the bag and pulled out a roll of parchment.

After a moment of fumbling with Eighty's leg, the girl tied the small sack to the owl's leg. She tapped the sack with her wand and muttered an incantation. The sack and twine vanished instantly. The owl let out a loud hoot.

"Get as far away from here as you can," she ordered her flying companion. "Any direction, so long as it's away from this place. Get back to the Resistance as fast as you can, and get that package back to General Granger." The owl clearly had an issue with that, letting out several anxious screeches.

"Yeah, I'm gonna take out as many of those metalheads as I can. Eighty, I'll come back for you, I promise! Go! Don't worry—it'll be all right. Wherever you end up, I'll find you."

Eighty continued to hesitate. But when the pilot remained indifferent to repeated hoots or screeches, the owl finally turned and took to the air, accelerating across the sand and away from the village. Katharine let out a sigh of relief.

The tall, hooded figure whose arrival had so transfixed the shell-shocked trooper made his way directly to the center of the village. He did not waver in his course or objective, ignoring startled Enforcers and armed villagers alike. Seeing him approach, Flitwick whirled with his wand in hand, quickly recognizing who was coming towards him. Unfortunately, the figure was faster, blasting the old man with a blue curse that blasted him into the side of a hut. Two Enforcers grabbed him, and roughly dragged him over to the cloaked figure, dumping him at the man's feet.

The armored figure clad in black stared down at Flitwick, examining him from head to foot much as one would a relic in a museum. Flitwick gazed back up evenly. Even with the difference in height, neither one looked like they were going to back down. The black mask, with its slitted forehead and thick, snoutlike breathing apparatus, covered the face of the man he knew as Lord Caldrin. Once, he had known the face behind the mask. Once, he had known the man himself, another bright student in his class with unlimited potential. Now, to Flitwick, only the mask was left. Metal instead of man. Nothing more than a monster.

Caldrin spoke first, without hesitation, as if he had anticipated this meeting for some time. "Greetings, Professor Flitwick. It's good to see you again. It's been too long." Though emanating from a human throat, the voice that was distorted by the mask had the sick flavor of the disembodied." Flitwick trembled with rage as he looked up at the cloaked figure.

"Don't call me Professor, boy! You are no longer one of my students! You have been, and always will be, a failure!"

Words had no effect on the mask or, so far as Flitwick could tell, what lay behind it. There was no reaction, no outrage. Only impatience.

"I've grown beyond the weak-minded folly of Hogwarts, Professor. You know what I've come for." He spoke calmly.

"I know where you come from." For all the concern he displayed, Filius Flitwick countered "From a time before you called yourself Caldrin. Back when you actually had potential. I'll say this, boy, The Sorting Hat made a mistake with you."

From behind the mask, a growl: feral, but still human. "Careful, Professor. Now, the map to Potter. We understand you've acquired it. And now you're going to give it to the Pure Order."

At the point where she had entered the village, moving cautiously and keeping to what cover was available, Katharine could now observe the confrontation. Flitwick, she recognized even from behind and in bad light. But the other one… her blood boiled with the sight of him. She knew his mask from pictures from the Daily Prophet, and from briefings. Lord Caldrin… her sister's killer. Her fingers gripped her wand until they were white. Part of her wanted to leap out and curse Caldrin until there was nothing left.

She strained to overhear what they were talking about, but without edging closer and exposing herself to wandering Enforcers, she could only look on.

"You're a disgrace to your family! And your House!" Flitwick squeaked angrily. Caldrin simply looked at him.

"I am beyond them. I am no longer weakened by the bounds of my family." He answered curtly. Flitwick looked up at the man, but softened a bit. Pity, perhaps?

"The Pure Order arose from this madness. The same madness that cost so many their lives decades ago. You, however, did not."

Impatience on the part of the visitor gave way to exasperation.

"How is it possible that a conversation becomes so tedious, so quickly?" A sweep of one long arm encompassed the boundaries of the village. "Don't turn a simple transaction into a tragedy for these people." A tincture of undiluted sadism stained the voice behind the mask. "Hasn't your presence here done enough for them already? You couldn't protect them anymore than you could protect your precious students."

"I made my peace with these folk and this place long ago. As to the other, to turn away from your heritage is the true tragedy. The things you've done are an insult, no, an abomination to the sacrifices that those before you made!" Caldrin stiffened ever so slightly as he leaned forward. Then, expectantly, he chuckled.

"Ravenclaws. You're all the same, aren't you? You think you're the smartest and brightest around. But, your arrogance makes you blind, so blind that you failed to see your own destruction. Like the other houses, it's nothing but an illusion. Still, it didn't matter in the end, did it?" Flitwick didn't budge a bit.

"You have been, and always will be, a coward. No matter where you go, you can never deny the truth that is your family." If that enraged him, it didn't show.

"Enough witless banter." Caldrin held out a hand. "Old man, give it to me. I wont ask again."

From her vantage point nearby, analyzing the movements and gestures of both men, Katharine could divine enough to guess what was being discussed. And to envision the eventual, inevitable conclusion.

"Even if I still possessed it, I would never give it to you! Don't be a fool! If you continue down this path, you will be consumed, just like those who came before you! Don't throw away your life for a cause that will ultimately fail!" Flitwick declared in a matter-of-fact tone, and without any fear, with the same manner he had used to lecture and criticize students for decades. For one long, silent moment, Caldrin and Flitiwick looked at each other, illuminated in the glowing embers of the fire.

"No," Katharine muttered under her breath. "No, no, no…" Foregoing any further effort at concealment and disregarding her own safety, she broke from cover and started toward the pair.

Caldrin seemed to grow before Flitwick, towering over the short man. Rage flared behind the mask as reason gave way to fury. A sleek black wand appeared in one hand.

"You're wrong!"

Green light, refulgent and cutting, ripped across and through the figure of Filius Flitwick.

Katharine watched in horror as the revered professor collapsed instantly Time seemed to slow. Thoughts raced through her mind, half crazed, wholly powerless. She screamed with rage as she pointed her wand at the cloaked figure.

"Avada Kedavra!" the green light erupted from her wand, shooting straight at the figure of Lord Caldrin. But, she knew it was too late. Too late, too slow, she told himself despondently.

Perceiving the threat, Lord Caldrin reacted immediately. A hand rose sharply, palm facing toward the unknown assailant. The gesture was merely the physical manifestation of something infinitely more powerful and entirely unseen.

It intercepted the Killing Curse from the agent's wand, sending it spiraling into a dune, where it exploded harmlessly. From behind the mask, eyes of preternatural intensity tracked the attack to its source.

Initially driven by pure rage, Katharine now found that she could not move. Her heart pounded and her lungs heaved, but her voluntary muscles refused to respond. Her arms and legs snapped to her side, and she fell into the sand like a plank of wood. The Pertificas Totalus curse, most likely.

A pair of Enforcers took hold of her and dragged her forward until she stood helpless before the impassive Caldrin. Her looked at her for a brief moment before he flicked his hand. Instantly, the curse lifted, and her body unstiffened. Not that it mattered, anyway. Had they not held on to her, Katharine would simply have fallen over. Still, even surrounded by no one but enemies and no chance of escape, she chose to do something she had wanted to do for years. She spat on him. For one moment, there was complete silence. The Enforcers stood stunned, and Cladrin stood like a stone as her present gleamed on his mask. Then, he slowly brought his sleeve up and wiped the spit off his mask. A second latter, he slapped her clean across the face, knocking her to the ground. The two Enforcers grabbed her again and pulled her up, ignoring the dribble of blood that dripped down the side of her mouth.

"Very brave… or very stupid." Caldrin said slowly.

"That was for my sister." Katharine spat. He simply cocked his head, somewhat amused.

"I've killed many sisters. Don't expect me to remember who you're talking about." Katherine hissed in rage as she struggled against the enforcers.

"Elizabeth Wood! You killed her at Hogwarts in cold blood!" Caldrin regarded her curiously.

"Ahhh… you must be Katharine Wood. Yes, I seem to recall that Elizabeth did mention you several times. I wonder what she would think of you now. " Filius Flitwick's murderer casually scrutinized the prisoner, before his gaze settled on the details of her clothing.

"And a member of the Resistance, from your clothing." He nodded curtly. "Search her. Thoroughly."

One of the troopers who had dragged Katherine forward commenced a detailed and none too gentle pat down. She hissed with rage when one of them briefly lingered on her chest and waist, giving them a brief squeeze before finishing his inspection.

Pulling his wand from his service belt, the other Enforcer slowly passed it the length of the prisoner's body, beginning at the agent's head and ending at her feet. The examination did not take long.

"Nothing," declared the first Enforcer, standing at attention.

Katharine snarled up at the trooper who had used his hands. "Pervert." Forgetting himself for a moment, the goaded soldier kicked her legs out from under her. Katharine went down hard on her knees, still defiant.

The other trooper gestured with his wand. "Same here, sir. This one is clean. All of the usual spells have produced nothing. Nothing but the expected food residue." He didn't hesitate. "Terminate her?" Katharine's breath quickened reflexively as she closed her eyes, waiting for the end.

Lord Caldrin did not let his disappointment show. At such times, momentary delays were not unexpected. All would be satisfactorily resolved, in good time.

"No. Keep her." A brief pause, then, "Intact and functioning. Return to the _Avalon_ and escort her to a cell. Use whatever means to extract the information from her. I'll be along shortly." Plainly disappointed, the two troopers dragged Katharine away. The three then vanished with a loud crack. Caldrin stood still, contemplating possibilities. Later, he told himself. For now, there were other details to attend to. He allowed his thoughts to be briefly diverted, regretting the time that had been wasting in dealing with necessary inconsequentialities.

Awaiting his pleasure, the senior officer in overall charge of the special squadrons drew herself up at his approach, her red cloak of rank hanging loose around her. It stood in startling contrast to her armor, which even in the poor light shone like polished silver. She snapped to attention as he stood in front of her, his black cloak fluttering in the wind.

"Your orders, sir?" she asked briskly.

Lord Caldrin surveyed his blazing surroundings. He had already spent too much time here, to only partial satisfaction. He disliked such delays. "Kill them all, Captain Goyle, and search the village. Every building, every possible storage facility and place of concealment. When your troops have razed it to the ground, search the ground. Use every possible spell and curse. You know what to look for. I want results."

A single nod and she turned. A line of troopers stood before the assembled surviving villagers. "On my command!" Wands were raised. The reactions of the villagers were typical. Some stepped forward, insolent to the last. Others fell to their knees. There was whimpering and crying and shouts of defiance. Others spat curses at the Enforcers, insulting their family and wishing them eternal dammnation. None of it lasted very long.

"Fire!"

As one, the troopers roared "Avada Kedavra!" It was over instantly. The entire villiage was briefly illuminated in a dark green light that quickly faded.

When it was over, and the only sounds were methodical chatter among the troopers mixed with a variety of unholy crackling, they dispersed to carry out a final analysis of the debris—inorganic and otherwise. Standing by himself, one trooper with a bloody face mask was startled when a hand came down on his shoulder. Though the hand belonged to a comrade, the first Enforcer did not relax.

"Notice you didn't cast any spells. Problem with your wand?"

Automatically, the trooper being questioned nodded in response. His comrade gestured knowingly and clapped him on the shoulder. "Turn it in when we get back to base. Let the wandmakers deal with it and get yourself a new one."

"Thanks. I will." No sooner had his helpful colleague departed to rejoin his own unit than the trooper found himself gaping at the tall, dark-clad figure of Lord Caldrin striding purposefully to make his leave.

Though he willed himself to move, to turn away, he found he could not. He remained rooted in place, clutching his wand, staring despite himself. And in response, the figure of Lord Cladrin turned and looked sideways, directly at the soldier, regarding him. The trooper saw only light reflecting off a mask, and his own fear. His gut went cold.

"He knows. He must know. And I'm…doomed." The soldier trembled. He knew exactly what happened to those who displeased Lord Caldrin. The unmoving forms of Flitwick and his companions attested to that.

But he wasn't. The glance lasted barely a second. Then Caldrin resumed his pace, deep in thought. He glanced at a wand lying on the ground. It was Katharine's, the one that had come within an arm's length of killing him. He held out his hand, causing the wand to fly into his hand. Caldrin stared at the shaft of wood in his hand. Then, he clenched the wand in his hand, tightening the grip. After a minute, the wood cracked, and the wand broke into pieces. Caldrin snorted in disgust as he wiped his hands clean of the wood splinters. Then, he apparated away with a loud crack. The remaining Enforcers continued to search for stragglers, setting fire to the remaining structures. One large structure exploded in a shower of wood and fire, marking the end of Arron.

The sound of the explosion reverberated across the gravel flats and dunes. Far away now, a brown owl continued to flee. The fireball that rose into the sky suggested the detonation of something far more volatile than primitive buildings and scrapped mechanicals. The owl let out a terrified hoot as it continued to fly, vanishing into the darkness.

 **Enjoy that? Trust me, there's more coming up! Enjoy!**


	4. The Scavanger

**Hey! I hope you guys enjoy the next chap in this exciting take on the next chapter in the Harry Potter Saga! Enjoy!**

Katharine gasped out loud as her feet hit the ground and ker knees buckled. However, a pair of arms gripping her sides kept her from collapsing. She really hated side-apparation. After being captured and restrained, a spell had been cast on her that made her temporarily blind, so she couldn't see any details about the base she had been taken to.

The shackles that she had worn were removed as soon as she and her captors apparated. Now safely, there was no reason to physically restrain the prisoner. Apparently enjoying themselves, or perhaps merely impatient to get out of their robes, her escort chivvied her along with what she considered to be unnecessary roughness. Not that Enforcers of any ilk were noted for their individual diplomacy. Considering whom she had tried to curse, she knew she ought to consider herself fortunate that they had brought her still attached to all her important appendages.

A physical state of being, she knew, that could be altered at any moment. She took a deep breath as she relaxed in the grip of her captors, struggling to catch details of where she was. Not that it helped. People who the Dark Order captured didn't usually last long. And she had a feeling she had a much worse experience waiting for her.

On the other side of the enormous and impressive receiving bay, other troopers were apparating in in pairs, grateful that more of their number had not been lost on the expedition and looking forward to some rest and food. Not to mention, they were more than anxious to remove their dusted and stained robes and armor for cleaning.

Intent on reliving the battle below, they paid no attention to one of their own who fell behind. When he was convinced no one was looking at him, the trooper turned and raced towards the nearest restroom. Once inside, he removed his mask and proceeded to void the contents of his stomach into the nearest sink. He let out a hagged gasp as he turned on the sink, desperate to remove the evidence. Once the sink was clean, he ripped off his gloves and cupped his hands, splashing his face. He gasped as he stared at himself in the mirror. Looking back at him was a young man with pale white skin and wet curly blond hair. His eyes were filled with a combination of fear and horror, and the terror in his expression was palpable. Fortunately, there was no one there to witness his disgrace. He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled his gloves back on and began to wipe the mask clean of blood. But, the door slid open.

Terror gave way to cold fear as he found himself gazing back at Captain Goyle. How much had the senior officer seen? How much did she know? Too much, as it turned out.

"Uhhhh… Captain… this is the men's room." He tried to say, but it came out as a squeak.

Aloof yet commanding, she ignored his remark and indicated the wand he still carried. "SN-2187. I understand you experienced some difficulty with your wand. Please be so good as to submit it for inspection by your division's wandmaker."

"Yes, Captain." How he managed to reply without stammering he did not know. Instinct as opposed to training, he decided. Self-preservation.

"And who gave you permission to remove that mask?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Captain. I just wanted… to make sure it was in pristine condition." He prayed that she would believe it, but there was no way to tell from under that emotionless mask.

He could feel her disgust as he struggled to put the mask back over his head. "Report to my division at once," Goyle ordered before turning and briskly striding out of the restroom, the door sliding shut with a bang that made him winch. He turned to look at the terrified man in the mirror.

Worse, he knew miserably, was likely to come later.

—

It was a place where beings went to die. For miles, there was nothing but stretches of sand and hills. It didn't matter out where whether you were a muggle, a witch/wizard, or any other kind of magical creature. You wouldn't last a day out in this weather. You would ultimately end up a sun bleached-up bone, buried beneath the sand. Not that anyone had a reason to come here. Of course, there was one reason that a magical being would come here, which lay beneath the sands. Although the Pyramids were under Ministry sanction, there were miles of hidden tombs, tunnels, caverns under the desert, full of magical relics. However, there were rumors that the relics were cursed. None except a very few, for whom daring was as much a sense as sight or hearing.

"Lumos Maxima." A bright light erupted from the end of a wand, filling one such tunnel with bright light, illuminating one such individual, who slowly strode down the tunnel, guided by the light. Clad in light protective goggles with brown lenses, face mask, gloves, and gray desert robes, the busy figure was burdened with a substantial backpack. The wand in the individual's hand was well worn, but still a valuable tool in these depths. Wielding an assortment of tools, the scavenger was excising an assortment of small devices from one wall. The scavenger ran one hand across the right wall while keeping the wand raised to see the wall clearly. The scavenger murmured softly as it read the symbols on the wall. It's eyes darted across the ground, occasionally letting out a small cheer of delight when the light glistened off a shiny object buried in the ground. Carefully, the scavenger would pick up the objects with its wrapped gloves, to ensure safety from any possible curses that might lay on the artifacts. One after another, bits of booty found their way into the satchel that hung below the slender figure, which was specially jinxed to contain the objects. When the satchel was full, the scavenger secured it shut and commenced a perilous ascent. These tunnels were extremely dangerous, especially the uncharted ones. They were a maze. One wrong move, and you could be lost down there forever, and no one would ever know.

"Point me." The scavenger whispered, causing the wand to spin in the scavenger's palm, leading the scavenger through the underground maze, avoiding sharp projections and threatening gaps in the wall. Arriving at the bottom of the desert canyon, the figure headed toward a distant slit of sunlight. Upon reaching the exit, she paused at the gate and pushed, pressing the hidden switch to cause the hidden door to slide open, instantly bathing the scavenger in heat and light. She grunted as she climbed out, and turned to look back at the door.

"Sealus movelus." The scavenger flicked her wand, causing the door to slide shut with a large thud. She then flicked her wand, causing a wall of sand to cover the door. After all, this was her spot, and she had to make sure no one else found it.

Outside the caverns and at last clear of danger, the scavenger shoved the goggles up on her forehead and squinted at the blasted surroundings. She was nearly twenty, with dark red hair, darker brown eyes, and a hint of something deeper within. After her years of work in the sun, her skin was tanned dark, with a splash of freckles across her face. There was a freshness about her that the surrounding harsh landscape had failed to eliminate. Anyone glancing at her would have thought her soft: a serious error of judgment. It had been a respectable day's work, enough to ensure she would eat tonight, and maybe a little extra. Pulling a canteen from her belt, she wiped sweat from her face and shook the remaining contents of the container into her upturned mouth. There should be more, she told herself as she began tapping the side of the canteen. "

"The last few drops sometimes clung stubbornly to the insulated interior. She let out a groan of frustration.

"Aw, bloody hell." She cursed. She pulled out her wand and pointed at the canteen.

"Aguamenti." She cursed when the spell barely filled half the canteen.

"Oh well, down the hatch." She gulped the water, and tried not to gag. Spellwater tasted horrible.

Concluding that she had drained the container of all its contents, she reattached it to her belt facing inward. The satchel and the larger piece of salvage were secured to a piece of wood, which she sent sliding down the mountain of sand in front of her.

A second shard of wood served as a sled for the girl to follow the results of the day's labor down the dune slope. Practice allowed her to manipulate the wood skillfully enough so that she neither fell off nor crashed into any of the rocks that littered the dune face.

At the bottom she stood and dusted herself off. "Her dun-hued garb was desert basic, designed to protect the wearer from the sun and preserve body moisture. It was inexpensive, easily repaired, and unlovely.

"Accio Firebolt!" she turned and held her hand out. A minute later, the wind whistled as the broom shot over a dune and stopped right next to her. Then again, this broom was like her, worn and weathered. The ends were a little frayed, and the wood was a bit cracked and weathered. But, still pretty reliable. She slung her satchel over her shoulder before she climbed onto the Firebolt. She took off into the air, ripping up a wave of sand behind her. As she flew through the air, she couldn't help the smile that came across her face. Then, she pulled the broom into a deep dive, pulling up at the last minute, almost hitting a dune.

That was her life, May reflected: a succession of anxious moments, interrupted only by the novelty of occasional panic. All part and parcel of trying to survive on a backwater place as harsh and unforgiving as this one. She occasionally had to dodge large rock outcroppings and sand dunes.

Racing along the flat desert floor, she pitched her head back, smiling as she felt the wind passing around her.

Lifting, the broom rose over the jagged rock before it, soaring to a necessary height. For the hell of it, she executed a barrel roll; a small moment of exhilaration in an otherwise humdrum existence. There was something about flying that just felt… right. It felt like a part of her. She felt at peace, flying and twirling through the air.

By the time she came out of it, Tralina Outpost was plainly visible just ahead. Tralina: one of the only civilized spots for miles, repository of manifold cultures, offering to its myriad inhabitants a never-ending succession of entertainment, education, and enjoyable distractions.

Her smile twisted. Tralina was a functioning armpit of a town and nothing more, a place where no one asked questions and everyone went quietly about their own business. It was far enough out of Ministry influence that people could conduct business free from the threat of arrest.

It was just large and developed enough that if you dropped dead in the street, there was a fifty percent chance someone might go to the trouble of raking up your body and passing it along to a local cremator, provided there were funds available to pay for your chosen means of disposal. Or, your body would just be transfigured into a rock or a stick and tossed into the desert. Otherwise, the deserts of Egypt would take care of the remains in their own good time, and without rendering any opinions on the virtues of the deceased.

As long as she could work, May had no intention of suffering such a fate. No one does, of course. Death displays nothing if not variety in its methods, which are often surprising and sometimes amusing. She stopped her broom and cast the appropriate anti-burgle charms, then unloaded her salvage and hauled it toward the community structure that had been built for that purpose and was open to all. No one offered to help her with the heavy load. In Tralina, youth and gender were no barrier to neighborhood indifference.

Once inside the tented, shaded structure, she unpacked the results of the day's work, and began cleaning. When it came to salvage, appearance did matter. But, she had to be careful. Many of these artifacts had ancient curses and jinxes on them, and one touch with bare skin could be lethal. Take last week. There had been a scavenger, Travin, who had found an entire gold necklace hidden in a pyramid. He had been so ecstatic when he found it that when he took it out to clean, he forgot his gloves. Needless to say, the second that he grabbed it, the result was quite horrific. The curse literally ripped him to pieces and splattered the remains all over the marketplace. Not that that stopped four other scavangers from fighting over the necklace. This was perhaps as dangerous as the excavation itself..

Around her, other scavengers were doing the same. Humans and nonhumans communicated freely, commenting on one another's findings and exchanging gossip, mostly in the local patois. They filled a good deal of the available workspace. When not chatting amiably with one another, they strove to learn where their competitors were finding their best salvage.

Also, they were not above stealing from one another when the opportunity presented itself, even if it had to potential to rip you to shreds. Needless to say, May kept a close eye on her goods.

Coming up beside her, one of Garnook's assistants barked at her and gestured in her direction with his staff, implying it would be in her best interests to focus on her work and hurry it up. Without another glance in the direction of the mother and child, May returned to her own work. It was important to make sure to remove all the dust to see what kind of metal it was. Gold got her more than silver would. Especially if it was encrusted with jewels. Age was a factor as well. The older, the better.

Finishing sooner than she expected, she made her way across the tent to the exchange booth. Essentially, the booth was a metal stand with a tent draped over it. Dark brown from rust and age, it was surrounded by piles of recently purchased components. In contrast to the dominant tenting, it boasted a solid suspended ceiling in the form of another piece of salvaged metal. In Tralina, the most disagreeable part of surrendering salvage was taking payment. This was due not to the quality of the money one received as payment but to the nature of the individual distributing it. Especially since that individual was a goblin.

The lumpish shape seated slightly above and in front of her was not human. The goblin may have been several feet smaller, but thanks to his large booth, he still was able to leer down at her. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He had slick black hair that looked like a dead cat, and he was very winkled. While she knew he looked forward to their occasional business dealings, she could not say the same. Since that would have required not only listening to him but looking at him, she always strove to keep their encounters as brief as possible. It wasn't that she was prejudiced against goblins, she just really hated this one.

There were plenty of rumors about him. Based on what she had heard, he had been a top official at Gringotts, until he had been forcibly removed by the Ministry after the Second Wizarding War because of supposed dealings with Death Eaters. So, he had traveled out here and become a black market dealer in artifacts that would buy artifacts from scavangers. Personally, May didn't care what his story was, as long as she got paid.

Garnook, on the other hand, was delighted to extend their encounters for as long as she could stand it. He always took his time when examining her pieces, letting his gaze rove slowly over everything she put before him, making her wait. He would put on his magnifying monacle, which made his eyes look especially creepy. Only when the bounds of common courtesy had been markedly surpassed did he deign to acknowledge her presence.

"May. A decent offering, if nothing remarkable. Based on these materials… I'll give you five Galleons and six sickles." She did not give him the pleasure of seeing her disappointment. She didn't budge, though.

"Seven." His eyes narrowed to slits as his dark eyes met her brown eyes.

"Six galleons." He countered. She crossed her arms.

"Six galleons and ten sickles." They stared at each other, until Garnook laughed and smiled at her.

"Very well, you drive a hard bargain." He reached down and pulled out a large bag, clearly taking his time to pull out each galleon and sickle and stacking them on top of each other in front of May. When he was done, she quickly stuffed them into a leather bag attached on her belt.

"That's my girl," Garnook commended her. Not replying, she turned and left, moving as quickly as she could without alerting him to the fact that his presence disgusted her. She could feel his eyes all over her until she exited the big tent.

She strode through the settlement, her pay clinking against her leg. Her empty canteen thudded on her right. So, she headed for the Howling Werewolf, the only place that people around here went to relax and get a drink. The guy running was alright, a grizzled wizard named Callner. It also was the only place that one could get refills of clean water. Of course, most guys went for the entertainment as well. Callner had the best looking girls in the closest hundred miles. May pushed open the doors and strode in, making her way to the bar. She slid in, and Callner glanced at her as he cleaned a glass.

"The usual, Callner." He nodded, filled a glass with firewhiskey and slid it over to her. She gulped it down, feeling the burn in her throat. She pulled out her canteen and handed it to him, along with three of her sickles.

"Well, look who it is." May turned to see her friend Jenny slide into the seat next to her. May smiled. Jenny was one of the few people in this place she actually considered a friend. She was one of Callner's girls, who preformed in the tavern on nights, mainly singing in skimpy outfits. That's what she was wearing right now, actually. She was dressed in a deep blue strapless dress that clung to her lean figure perfectly, and did a great job of showing off her shoulders and chest. She was a year younger than Jenny, but they still got along great.

"Griffin, you're on in ten." Callner said as he handed May back a full canteen. Jenny nodded as May clipped the canteen back on her belt.

"So, find anything interesting today?" May nodded.

"The usual. Haggled Garnook to six galleons for the lot." Jenny groaned.

"That's it? I swear, that goblin robs you blind." May rolled her eyes.

"Better than nothing." Jenny sighed in frustration.

"Why do you do this, May?" May sighed as she took another gulp.

"Come on, May! I mean, you risk your life every day crawling around in those tunnels, digging up all those cursed objects that might kill you with the slightest touch, and yet you barely make enough for food!" May simply shrugged.

"It's a living." Jenny looked flabbergasted.

"Look, I have an offer." May shook her head.

"Again, no, Jenny." She sighed in frustration.

"Look, I'm not saying that you make it a permanent gig. Come on, you know Callner would say yes in a heartbeat. Just slip on a red dress and sing a few nights. You'd make in one night what that shriveled old fart pays you in two weeks. Maybe even more. Let's face it, a lot of guys here would pay big to see you show off some skin." May actually laughed.

"Thanks, Jen, but that's not me. I'll stick to crawling through tunnels." Jenny rolled her eyes as she adjusted her sleek black hair.

"Same old May…" she took a deep gulp of her own Firewhiskey.

"I'm leaving, May." May turned and stared at her friend with surprise.

"What?" Jenny nodded.

"Yep. Tonight's my last night on stage. I'm leaving tomorrow. I worked out a deal with that cute trader over there. I paid him off with most of my earnings for fake documentation, and he's taking me to France. I'm off to Paris! Good food, culture, a better life!" Jenny grinned. May chuckled as she rolled her eyes.

"Congratulations, you deserve it." Jenny smiled.

"Why don't you come with me?" she asked. May blinked in confusion.

"Huh?" Jenny had an excited look on her face.

"Come on! Don't waste your life out here! Get out, see the world!" May actually looked at Jenny with a surprised expression.

"Come on, come with me! Leave this desert hell, and start a new life! Meet a cute guy, see the world! Hell, join the Resistance!" May looked at Jenny for a long silent minute.

"I… can't." Jenny's shoulders sagged in disappointment.

"Why?" she demanded.

"You know why." May answered before taking a drink. Jenny let out a loud groan and looked like she wanted to run her hands through her face, but didn't want to mess up her make-up, since she was about to go on.

"Not this again!" May nodded firmly.

"My family will be back. They have to come back. One day." Jenny sighed in frustration.

"I get it, I really do. I miss my family too sometimes, May, but you can't waste your life waiting for something that might never happen. Move on with your life." May was silent, staring down at her drink.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. But I just… can't." Jenny looked at her before sighing in disappointment.

"If that's how you feel, May. I hope we meet again someday." Jenny nodded at Callner before striding towards the stage. A minute later, Callner stepped out, dressed in a pathetic excuse of a dressing robe.

"And now for your entertainment, Miss Jenny Griffin!" the curtains parted to reveal Jenny, who looked up when the spotlight fell on her, smiling as the tavern filled with cheers and catcalls, mainly from excited scavengers after a long days work.

 _"You had plenty of money. You let other women make a fool of you. Why don't you do right, like some other men do..."_

Jenny stepped across the stage, all the while keeping a large smile on her face as she spun, allowing all the attendees to get a fuller look at her.

 _"Get out of here, Get me some money too. You're sittin' down wondering what it's all about. If you ain't got no money they will, put you out. Why don't you do right, like some other men do? Get out of here, Get me some money too..._

She playfully placed her foot on the chest on one of the men close to the stage, and pushed, sending him tumbling back with a goofy grin on his face.

 _"Now if you had prepared 20 years ago,You wouldn't be diggin now from door to door. Why don't you do right, like some other men do?"_

"Here's your usual, kid." May nodded as she took a hot brown bag from Callner and slid it into her bag. Then, she turned to look at Jenny, who was now striding through the tables, winking and teasing the groups of scavengers and other workers clustered around the table, who were staring at her with vivid intensity.

 _"Get out of here, get me some money too. Get out of here, get me some money too."_

Then, without any warning, she strode over to May, and stared her right in the face, singing the last lyric of her song without missing a beat.

 _"Why don't you do right, like some other men dooooo?"_

She broke off the song and twirled back towards the stage and took a bow, to much applause. She winked at May before vanishing behind the curtain. May sighed as she stood up.

"See you tomorrow, Callner." He nodded as she strode towards the door and exited. Time to go home.

—

"Out on the salt flats, the only place to shelter from the sun and the predators at night was inside something one had built oneself. May's broom was an insignificant speck against the fiery, setting mass as she slowed on approach to her residence.. Few came this way, so she didn't have to worry about any visitors. Unloading, she gathered her belongings and headed for the makeshift entrance that led into the belly of the cave that May called home. May had actually found it by accident. She had been exploring a new tunnel when a wall collapsed, and she had stumbled into the cave. After exploring it, she found an exit leading to the desert. After cleaning it of its artifacts, she had decided to make the cave home, and had carefully filed an exit that led out into a dune. She had stuck a tarp over the entrance, and over the years, she had decorated the cave. It may have seemed like a simple cave to anyone else, but to May, it was home."

After carefully unloading her gear and supplies onto the homemade cabinets and shelves, she remembered to make a scratch mark on one interior wall, a streak of white against the brown wall. She had long since stopped bothering to count the scratches, which now numbered in the thousands.

Bits and pieces of homemade décor ornamented isolated alcoves and corners: here a handmade doll fashioned from tattered faded robes, there a cluster of dried desert flowers; on the far end of the bed insert, a pillow that had cost her a day's work. It wasn't much, but where such examples of defiant individuality had been placed, they softened the drabness of their surroundings. She fell back into a homemade chair and sighed in exhaustion, before reaching into her bag and pulling out the wrapped brown meal she had brought back.

"Still warm." She sighed as she took off the wrapping to reveal the hot bread mixed in with meat. Taking a seat, she dug into both as if she had not eaten in weeks. It seemed that these days all too many meals were like that. When she had finished, she picked up the plate and licked it dry before setting it aside. Rising, she moved to a window that she had built in that looked in the direction of Tralina. Even now, in the growing darkness, she pondered. Jenny was probably long gone by now, off on a new adventure out there somewhere. And she was here.

Wiping her mouth, she turned to a shelf where an old, badly used textbook lay. She picked it up and glanced at the cover, which faintly read: _Hogwarts: A History_. She stared at the book for a long moment, before putting it back. She made her way outside into the cooling air. Nothing much to see tonight, she reflected. The sun going down. Tomorrow morning, the sun coming up. And so on to another day, not unlike its predecessor and the interminably repetitive ones that had gone before. She tried to think of something else—something that had changed, something that "seemed different—if only to keep her mind from atrophying. But there was nothing. Nothing new. Certainly nothing to daydream about. Out here, things never changed.

There was that occasional mention in the market of a rising new power in the galaxy. An organization that called itself "The Dark Order." Determined, relentless. Nobody seemed to know much else about it. Not something to worry about here, she knew. Whatever it was, whatever it represented, it wouldn't come to this backward, out-of-the-way place. She was alone. And she'd probably always be alone.

Something screeched that was not shifting sand. Rising quickly, she rushed out of the cave, her wand clenched in her fist. The screeching was sounding continuously now, no less frantic for its frequency.

Reaching the top of a nearby dune, she found herself gazing down at a sight as curious as it was unexpected. Trapped in a net of local material, a small brown owl was attempting to escape its prison, an effort rendered difficult due to its wings being trapped in the net. A short goblin looked pleased with his find as he rode atop a large beast. May groaned to herself.

"Carrnok." She cursed under her breath. She really hated that goblin.

When uncertain as to anything taking place here, May knew, it was always reasonable to assume that something untoward was happening. At least until she understood the particulars of the confrontation she was witnessing, it was only right to call it to a momentary halt. Especially since that owl seemed incapable of defending itself.

"Stop!" she yelled. Motion ceased as both Carnook and the owl stopped wrestling and turned to peer up at her.

Making an effort to simultaneously control both its heavy-headed mount and its captive, Carnnok yelled back through the mouthpiece of the goggle-eyed helmet that covered his wrinkled face. Its attitude was decidedly unconciliatory, even threatening. Meanwhile the head of the imprisoned owl swiveled rapidly back and forth, trying to watch both goblin and human simultaneously.

"Back off, bitch! This owl's mine!" he added a few other choice words in there as well. May immediately took offense, not only at the goblin's tone, but at its speech, which far exceeded the bounds of common courtesy that existed between fellow desert-dwellers and made difficult coexistence possible. The goblin knew better, and its intemperate words were enough to decide her on a course of action. Descending the far side of the dune, she pointed her wand at the net and yelled "Relashio!" the net flew off the owl and into Carnook's face, causing him to howl with rage. Furious with losing its prize, the goblin unleashed a stream of indigenous invective. None of it had the slightest effect on May, who whirled to point her wand right between the goblin's eyes.

"Leave, now!" she ordered. Long and drawn out, the Goblin's response to this would have been unprintable on any of a hundred civilized countires. Turning the metal-enclosed head of its mount, the unpleasant scavenger departed in the opposite direction. As soon as the native was a safe distance away, the owl hopped up and began screeching loudly and challengingly in its direction.

"Shhh," May hastened to quiet the owl. "Don't tempt it. They're already short-tempered enough. The owl instantly went silent. Together, the two of them tracked the beast until it and its rider had vanished from view.

"Are you okay?" the owl screeched at her and spread its wings. Or, it tried to. It winched as it tried to fully open its right wing, but let out a loud screech of pain.

"Calm down, I'm trying to help you!" May ordered as she tried to check on the owl. Then, she saw what the problem was. She cursed.

"Looks like that idiot hurt your wing. You're not flying anywhere anytime soon." The owl let out a wild screech.

"Look, I don't like this either. But, if you try to fly out there now, you're gonna end up someone's dinner." The owl quickly stopped screeching at that remark. It let out a nervous hoot.

"Look, I don't care. You're way outta your element…" she looked down at the owl, ultimately making a decision.

"Looks like you'll have to stay with me tonight. I'm not a animal doctor, but I think I can patch your wing up." The owl looked at her and let out a loud hoot. May frowned in confusion.

"Oh. Wait…" May carefully held her arm out. The owl looked from her arm to her.

"You got a better plan?" the owl hooted before hopping onto her arm and making his way up to her shoulder. Together, they headed for her abode.

"Once your wing's healed," she said firmly, "you go." A responsive hoot acknowledged her decision. "Fine, you're welcome." Another hoot, which made her laugh. "My name's May, by the way." Truth be told, she couldn't really understand the owl.

Still more screeching, and her smile disappeared. "Look, you're not going to talk all night, are you? Because that won't work. You know how humans rest. We need sleep. We're not nocturnal. We all cant fly hundreds of miles, you know." A second acknowledging screech. "Good. Keep that in mind and we'll get along 'til morning. Quietly."

A single hoot left hanging in the dry desert air as they disappeared behind the dune.

 **Enjoy that? there's more adventures coming up soon! Enjoy!**


	5. Rough Negotiations

The cell had no bars. No windows. No doors. Simply a metallic box with brilliant florescent light, meant to disorient her. The Pure Order had taken a few things from Azkaban's design, having set up all the necessary spells and boundaries beforehand to prevent any form of escape. Also learning from the mistakes of history, the only way one could exit or leave the cell was a form of magical portal on the left wall. After Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban decades prior, the Pure Order had taken additional measures to ensure none of their prisoners could repeat history. The portal acted as a one way door, similar to the vaults of Gringotts. Anyone could enter from outside, but without the specific spell to open the portal from the cell itself, they would be trapped.

In addition to two Enforcer guards, they had also placed a Dementor in the room, which loomed in the left corner of the room. Katharine had never seen a Dementor before, only having heard them in stories told to her by their father. After the Second Wizarding War had ended, the Dementors had been banished from their positions as Azkaban's guards by the new Ministry of Magic. In order to protect both muggle and magical civilians, many of the Dementors had been sealed in an inescapable pit deep in the bowls of Azkaban. However, it had always been rumored that some had managed to escape, hiding in the deepest forests and other hidden places in the world. Well, not a rumor anymore.

The single occupant was shackled tightly to the long metallic slab, unable to do more than turn her head. Katharine knew she should have been flattered. They were taking no chances with her. But all she could think about was how she had failed her mission. The dementor only made it worse. She felt like she was being dipped into an ice bath. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into her flesh, making her feel utterly hopeless.

So sunk was she in depression that she almost didn't react at first when the torture began. They knew many creative spells. The Cruciatus curse in particular was extremely unpleasant. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that she sometimes forgot knew where she was... white-hot knives were piercing every inch of her skin. Delivered with practiced skill, designed to hurt but not result in permanent damage, the spells fell intermittently, at different times of the day on different parts of her body. One spell in particular was like Dolores Umbridge's blood quill, only a thousand times worse. They placed a wand on her stomach, and then made a hundred thin cuts appear across it, which itself was excruciating. To top it off, they poured materials on the cuts such as salt, which made the pain explode tenfold from what it was earlier. Katharine wasn't sure how long she screamed before her voice finally broke.

She did her best to shut out the pain, much as she succeeded in shutting out the questions. Thankfully, the Resistance had taken some measure in training their agents to resist torture.

What she did not know was that they were merely a softening-up, an introduction to her principal interrogator.

That formidable individual arrived in due course. A little unsettling was the silver shimmering serpent coiled around his shoulders. She recognized it as a Patronus, clearly meant to protect himself against the effects of the dementor.

"Leave us. All of you." The two Enforcers saluted and strode through the wall. A minute later, the Dementor followed, gliding past them with a cold rush.

Katharine didn't realize her blood could get any colder until she saw him step in. Recognizing Caldrin from the attack on the village, she threw herself against her bonds in a final, supreme effort to break free. Demanding the last of her strength, the failure left her completely exhausted. It was just as well, she consoled herself. Fighting against the figure now standing before her would be counterproductive at best. Fighting and resistance, however, were two different things, and she resolved to focus what remained of his energy on the latter. Doubtless he could sense her determination. Was the masked figure smiling? There was no way to tell. Without warning, her thoughts slipped to her sister. Had she suffered like this before she died? Or had Caldrin given her a fighting chance?

While her interrogator's greeting was far from challenging, the sarcasm underlying Lord Caldrin's words was plain enough.

"I had no idea we had the best flier in the Resistance. I suppose flying skills are genetic, given your family's preference for it. Like father, mother and sister, hmmm?" he was met with silence.

"Revealing yourself through your futile attempt on my life was foolish. Revenge is little more than an pathetic concession to personal vanity. Even had you not been slow and ill-prepared, Flitwick was already dead. Comfortable?"

Katharine did his best to sound nonchalant. "Not really." She gestured as best she could with a shackled hand. "The accommodations leave something to be desired. One would think that the Pure Order would be more accommodating to a pure-blood." Caldrin chuckled.

"I regret the necessity. They are gratuitous in my presence. But those others who have made your acquaintance possess only the most primitive abilities, and further defiance on your part would demand their unnecessary exertions." He bent toward the prisoner. "None of this unpleasantness need be necessary. We both wanted the same thing from the old man. Perhaps he was more forthcoming with you than he was with me. He always did have a thing for Ravenclaws."

"I was never sorted. Never got the chance to, thanks to you." She countered. He tilted his head.

"I was referring to your sister." That was like a slap in the face. But she knew that he was simply trying to get a rise out of her so that she would let something slip.

"Yes, Elizabeth Wood. I remember her now. Seeker for the Ravenclaw Quidditch tem. Very popular, very attractive. I will not dent that I desired her myself, for a time." Katharine knew she should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn't help it.

"Didn't stop you from killing her."

"True. Would you like to know how she died?" her fists clenched.

"Whether or not she died begging? Or fought to the bitter end? What her last words were? If she was thinking of you?"

Katharine made a show of seriously considering the proposal before replying phlegmatically, "Might wanna rethink your technique. My sister's dead and you killed her, that's all I need to know. As far as I'm concerned, she died a hero fighting against you to protect her friends. Anyway, it's hard to get cooperation from an emotional wreck. So if you're going to kill me, just get it over with. It will be a little hard to get information from a corpse, though."

Caldrin stood back, looming over the prisoner. "A truism on which you might personally wish to reflect. It is pathetic, though. Is it not? You and I, both in pursuit of a ghost." His tone darkened. "Where did you put it?"

She stared up at him innocently. "Where did I put what?"

"Please. All time is transitory, and mine especially so. This will go more quickly and less awkwardly if we dispense with childish nonsense. After all, we aren't in Hogwarts. This is the real world No professors or prefects telling you what to do."

Katharine readied herself. "The Resistance will not be intimidated by you."

"As you wish, then. There is no 'Resistance' in this room. Only a stubborn little girl. And I."

A hand extended toward the shackled prisoner.

"To be quite honest, none of this was necessary at all. I could have acquired the information that I desired at any point. All I needed was to simply pour three of drops of veritiserum down your throat, and you would have spilled everything you know in less than a minute." Katharine stared at him in horror.

"But… I prefer this method much, much more."

Then, without warning, coils of black lightning arched out of his fingers and thrust into Katharine. Her screams reached a fever pitch as her body thrashed on the slab.

"Tell me," he murmured. "Tell me."

—

General Parkinson was waiting for him. As expected, the interrogation had not taken long. The senior officer did not have to ask if it had been successful. No matter how determined the prisoner, no matter his or her individual resolve, Caldrin's questioning invariably produced the same results.

The metal-covered face regarded the general, the voice that emanated from behind it dispassionate. "The girl does not have it. The map to Potter's location is with an owl, concealed in a pouch on the bird's leg."

Parkinson was plainly pleased, though that meant nothing to Caldrin.

"There's a reason that owls are so commonly used by the wizarding world. Very common animal, and the desert offers innumerable places for concealment. Trying to find it may be complicated." Caldrin pointed out.

Parkinson did not dispute this. "True enough, but the world outside is primitive, harsh. This owl is likely unfamiliar with this environment. Lost, confused. It'll likely make for the closest thing to civilization."

He turned away, planning. "With any luck we may not even have to search for it ourselves."

—

Even to an owl, Tralina Outpost was unimpressive.

May hefted the satchel that bulged from a new day's scavenging. Eighty hooted from the front of May's broom, flapping his wings. He clearly wasn't a fan of the heat. May rolled her eyes as she tied her hair in a ponytail, letting it flap behind her

Eying the indecisive bird, she nodded toward the town.

"There's a trader in the Northeast corner, goes by the name of Weston. Don't be put off by his appearance—he's actually a pretty decent sort. He owes me a favor for this artifact I got him a few months back. He'll be willing to give you a lift, wherever you're going.. So, once I drop off this load…

She paused a moment, considering, and then shrugged. "Good-bye. Stay here until I get back."

She had only taken a few steps when Eighty flapped his wings again and let out a piercing screech. "Oh, really? I thought you had somewhere special to be." May scoffed

Plaintive and anxious, the response was nothing like what she expected. She reached and rubbed the owl on his head.

"Worried about your old owner, huh? Sorry, I don't speak owl. So, I'm kinda guessing here." The owl response by nipping at her hand.

"Jeez, really? Look, don't give up. Your owner still might show up. Whoever it is. Believe me, I know all about waiting."

The owl hooted questioningly. May continued.

"For my family. They'll be back. One day." She tried to smile and failed miserably.

The owl cocked his head, meeting her eyes with his wide, piercing orbs. It caused her to rise suddenly, plainly annoyed by the query.

" _What?_ No! I'm not _crying_." This time when she started off she did not look back. Then, she almost had a heart attack when the owl flew from her broom and landed on her shoulder.

"Whoa, whoa whoa! OW! A little warning the next time you do that!" the owl nestled on her shoulder, clearly indicating that he had no intention of going anywhere.

"So I'm your nest now?" May rolled her eyes. Still, she sighed as she rubbed at her eyes.

"Fine. But no more asking about me crying." She continued into town, ignoring curious looks.

But her eyes continued to water as she made her way deeper into town, and she gave up trying to persuade the owl to leave her alone. She hated being reminded about her past, especially given how much of a blur it was. She couldn't remember her parents at all. Her name

 _Maybe one day things will change_ , she told herself absently as she waited her turn in the line. Like the hot, dry desert wind, reality cut in as she stepped up to the front and unloaded her goods. She hid the wave of revulsion that swept through her. Maybe one day, before the universe died, Garnook would take a bath.

The merchant made his usual show of inspecting her salvage, but his attention was actually on the owl perched on her shoulder.

"Two vases and a scepter. I'll give you a galleon and eight sickes. For the pair."

She reacted immediately. "Last week they were a galleon each, and you said you were looking for more." She indicated the two vases. "Here's two of 'em."

Garnook smiled. "Conditions have changed." He hefted one of the vases and squinted at it. "Besides, this one is chipped. I don't like paying for damaged merchandise."

"It's two thousand years old! Obviously it's not going to be in mint condition!" Before she could object further, he leaned forward. "But what about that owl there?"

"What about him?" she asked cautiously.

"Is he with you?" Garnook smiled. Which, if anything, was worse than his usual expression of indifference. "I'll pay for him. He looks in decent condition. Owls are quite a commodity."

Almost by cue, Eighty began to hoot apprehensively. May ignored him, intrigued.

"He might be."

"Why then didn't you offer him up together with the vases?" Garnook was drooling, which was quite a repulsive and disturbing sight. Normally that was a cue for her to flee while she still had control of her stomach. This time she ignored the bile.

"As you say, he's decent. Only a hurt wing." She spoke with studied indifference. "I wouldn't mind an owl around the house. Makes a fine messenger as well."

Garnook begged to differ. "This one? Of what use could it be to someone like yourself? Last I checked, you have no one to send letters too." May ignored the jab.

"Maybe I enjoy the company. You said you'd pay. How much?"

His pleasure apparent, Garnook could not contain himself. "Sixty galleons."

Somehow she managed to restrain her reaction to a single muscular twitch. Sixty galleons would feed her for…for…for a very long time. Time enough to do other work that had been long neglected. Time enough to relax and rest her bones. In fact… sixty galleons was more than enough for her to leave this dump. She could travel far away, anywhere her heart desired. She thought back to the conversation she had had with Jenny the day prior. Maybe Jenny had a point. She had already waited for so long… and still nothing. Odds were likely that her family was never coming back. So what was the point? Why shouldn't she live her own life?

Hooting furiously, Eighty dug his claws into her shoulder. The owl had been following the conversation from the beginning and was not liking the turn it had taken, not at all.

"Quiet," she muttered.

Either the owl didn't understand or else he was willfully ignoring her. Finally, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the owl.

Instantly, the owl's cries were cut off. He seemed to freeze on her shoulder, allowing her to pull him off and place him carefully on the ground. Just a temporary paralysis spell, nothing that would hurt him. She turned towards Garnook. Might as well see how far he was willing to go.

"One hundred galleons."

Garnook was patently surprised by the counterdemand, and just as obviously unhappy. Not that he was a stranger to argument. Scavengers wouldn't be scavengers if they didn't frequently dispute the value of their finds. It was just that he had not expected it from this one, especially considering what he had already offered. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now except gaining possession of the owl. So he smiled anew.

"Your audacity always has exceeded your size, May. I've always admired that about you."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm wonderful. Do we have a deal or not?" She stayed expressionless.

"How can I resist the force of your personality?" he replied in mock alarm. "One hundred it is." Atop his battered throne, he turned. "As you can imagine, it will take me a moment to assemble your payment. Please be patient."

May could hardly believe it. He'd accepted the counteroffer! She had only made it to see the expression on his face, never dreaming he would actually accept. A hundred galleons! Eagerly, she opened her satchel in preparation for receiving the expected bounty. This was one heavy load she was not going to mind toting. Her elation extended as far as making small talk with the detested goblin.

"What are you going to do with the owl? He's pretty to look at and all, but he's not flying anywhere soon with that wing. You're not gonna eat him, are you?"

"Oh, I'm not going to keep him for myself." Garnook spoke absently as he continued to fill a sack with the large golden coins. "Certain parties have been asking around about an owl like that. None of my business what they want it for. Smart traders don't delve deeply into their customers' motivations." He glanced over at her. "If I find out, I'll do you the courtesy of letting you know. Meanwhile, I'd like to think this exchange'll be good for both of us. That's the best kind of business, after all." He finished filling the bag, which was now at a considerable size. Eagerly, May reached for it.

"That's my girl." His tone oozed something more than false possessiveness. There was an eagerness in his voice that was something new even for Garnook. An eagerness that all but translated into triumph.

It was one of the hardest efforts in May's life for her to let go of the bag, drawing her hand back. She glanced down at the inert owl, thinking hard. At last she looked back at the goblin.

"Actually—the owl's not for sale. I made a mistake." Willing herself to do so, she shoved the bag back to the goblin.

Garnook was beside himself, any thought of restraint gone. As his voice rose, other scavengers in the room looked up from their work. The outburst was exceptional from such a small being.

"You little bitch!" he bellowed, his tone belying his choice of words, "we already had a deal!"

Grinning tightly, she echoed his earlier observation. "Conditions have changed." Reaching down, she flicked her wand. Like a switch, the owl came back to life, hooting incredulously as he flapped his wings.

"Conditions have…" Garnook looked like was he going to explode. "You think you can be snide with me, girl? You think you can play games here? Who do you think you are? You'd be dead if it wasn't for me!"

She drew herself up with as much pride as she could muster. "I am an independent operator, scavenger of a time long past, free of debt and beholden to no one. Least of all to a goblin."

"You are…you are…" The goblin tried to control himself. "You have nothing. You _are_ nothing! I took you in as a little runt, and this is how you repay me? You are nothing but a dumb little tramp!"

"On the contrary," she shot back, "I just told you who I am. As to what I have, that would be my freedom and my pride." Murmurs of assent rose from behind her, from the vicinity of the worktables. She had said aloud what her colleagues and compatriots, regardless of race, all wanted to say but dared not. At least not to Garnook's ugly face.

All pretense of deference gone, May took a step toward the chair and shot the merchant behind it so steely a glance that he visibly flinched. Eighty reacted with a hoot of admiration. Thus, May concluded the day's dealings with Garnook.

"The owl is not for sale."

With that she turned and headed toward the big tent's exit, the excited owl snuggled on her shoulder.

Garnook watched her go. He was starting to calm down, his mind working systematically. The confrontation had almost escalated beyond repair. Such loss of control was not like him. All his years at Gringotts taught him better than that. In the course of negotiations he would often shout, yell, occasionally pound the service shelf in front of him. But all the time, he was calculating. It was all about the business, all about the profit. Never personal. Not even now, when it involved the lovely but disrespectful May. That was something of a pity, he mused. Maybe he should sell the girl. He knew that there would be quite a few interested parties who would take quite an interest in her. She and the owl could bring him quite the fat payday. Still, no need to get his hands dirty…

Ignoring the newly arrived scavenger who had tentatively approached, Garnook turned away and slammed the service door shut, leaving the scavenger holding his bag of goods and staring blankly at the merchant's back.

—

Slumped and shackled in the seat, Katharine was still breathing. Beyond that, she no longer cared much what happened to herself. It wasn't her fault, she kept telling herself. For an ordinary wizard, no matter how strong they thought themselves, resisting the probing of a creature like Lord Caldrin was simply not possible. That lightning had been the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. She had been completely shattered in less than five minutes. There was no shame in the failure.

She didn't much care what they might do with her now, though he could guess. Having given up what little of value she had possessed, she was no longer of any use to them. There was nothing about brooms that the Pure Order did not already know, and as a mere flier, she would not be expected to know anything about military movements, planning or tactics. General Granger had always been cautious about who knew what. She had rendered himself expendable. She doubted they would keep her alive. Her eyes flicked towards the Dementor, igniting the spark of fear in her stomach. She prayed that they wouldn't give her the Dementor's kiss. Anything but that. A fate worse than death, her soul sucked out of her body, guaranteeing that she would never meet her family again.

Her head came up as the wall shimmered and an enforcer entered. At least, Katharine mused, it would be over soon. She could look forward to freedom from any further tormenting thoughts. The Enforcer's words to the room's single guard surprised her, however.

"I'm taking the prisoner to Lord Caldrin."

She sagged in her seat. What more did they want from her?

The guard wondered, too. "I was not told to expect you. Why would Caldrin wish to question the prisoner outside the cell?"

The new arrival's voice darkened. "Do you dare to question Lord Caldrin's motives?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant! I…" Without another word, the guard proceeded to release the prisoner from his shackles. It took twice as long as it should have, since in his sudden nervousness he kept fumbling the task. The Dementor loomed, as if it was curious.

"Back away, this doesn't concern you." The Enforcer ordered, his hand inching towards his wand. Almost as if by cue, the Dementor slunk back.

Procedure demanded that the trooper keep his wand trained on the prisoner at all times as together they made their way down the corridor. Another time, another place, she might have considered making a grab for it. But ahe was far too weakened to contemplate such a likely fatal effort. In any case, the trooper seemed as competent as all his kind and gave no indication of relaxing his vigilance.

A rough prod with the wand's tip caused Katharine to stumble and nearly fall. So exhausted was she that she could not even raise an objection or mutter a curse.

"Turn here," the trooper commanded sharply.

The passageway they entered seemed unusually narrow and poorly lit. In contrast to the one they had just left, they encountered no personnel. No troopers, no techs, no general crew. Her stomach sank. She had a bad feeling she knew where this was going.

A gloved hand clutching her shoulder brought her to a halt. Katharine took in her claustrophobic surroundings. An odd place to carry out an execution, she thought resignedly. Apparently they were not going to make a show of him. Or worse, this guy was some perv who thought he could have a little fun before he took her to Caldrin.

The trooper's words came low and fast. "Listen carefully and pay attention. You do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here."

Needless to say, she had not been expecting that. Maybe Caldrin's lightning had scrambled her brain. She turned and gawked at the trooper's mask. "If… _what_? Who are you?"

In lieu of reply, the trooper removed his helmet—a helmet that had been cleaned of the blood that had been smeared across it by the flailing hand of a dying friend far away, in the course of a minor battle on an obscure corner of the Egyptian desert. Katharine was surprised by the face. It was a young man, several years older than her. He had pale skin and lanky blond hair, but at the same time, a certain air of handsomeness and elegance to him. And somewhat… familiar.

"Have we met before? I swear that I've met you somewhere before."

"Will you be quiet and just listen to me? This is a _rescue_. I'm helping you _escape_." When a stunned Katharine didn't respond, the trooper shook her shoulder firmly. "Can you fly?"

Katharine finally stopped gaping at the pale young man and found her voice. "What's going on here? Are you—with the Resistance?"

" _What?"_ The man indicated their surroundings. "That's crazy! How long do you think anyone with Resistance sympathies would last in a place like this? You're under continuous observation. You so much as wink the wrong way and before you know it, the Obliviators are all over you, or worse. No, I'm just breaking you out." He cast a nervous glance up and down the narrow, dim corridor. "Can you fly a Nimbus 4000?"

Having long since surrendered anything resembling hope, it took Katharine more than a moment to begin regaining it. "I can fly anything. Any type of broom, any vehicle or creature, no matter what kind it is—just show it to me. But why are you helping me?"

The trooper spoke while staring nervously down the corridor. "Because it's the right thing to do."

Katharine shook her head, not buying it for a second. "Buddy, if we're gonna do this, we have to be honest with each other."

The trooper stared at her for a long moment. "I need a pilot. It's not exactly an easy fly out of this place."

Katharine nodded. A wide grin broke across her face. "Well, you just got me."

SN-2187 was taken aback by her quick agreement. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Katharine insisted. "We're gonna do this. If you can get me something that flies, that is."

The trooper slipped his mask back over his head. For an instant, the whole enterprise teetered on the edge of believability. Was she being set up? Katharine wondered. No longer needed, was she being made the subject of some cruel psychological trial, only to be thrown away at the conclusion? Yet there was something about the trooper that made her feel that she could trust him. His manner, his look: There was something that said "throw in your lot with this one and you won't be sorry that you did."

"Most of the brooms are locked in the armory, but there's always several spares in the hanger in case of an absolute emergency."

The trooper pointed back in the direction they had come. "This way. And stop looking so positive. Optimism doesn't fit a prisoner's profile."

Katharine obediently lowered her head and adopted as grim an expression as possible. Once, as they re-entered the main corridor, a hint of a smile broke through, to be quickly quashed.

The longer no one intercepted them and no one questioned their passage, the more she dared to allow herself to hope. What they were attempting bordered on the insane. Escaping from the custody of the Pure Order, much less from inside one of their bases, was nearly impossible.

Nearly.

The very unfeasibility of it worked in their favor. She could not be a prisoner trying to escape, because prisoners simply did not escape. Just as Enforcers did not desert their posts to facilitate such flight.

Ordinary troopers were one thing; the group of officers coming toward them as they entered the hangar was quite something else. Face still resolutely aimed downward, Katharine tensed and fought not to meet their eyes. Beside him, the trooper nudged her gently with the end of his wand and muttered tightly.

"Stay calm, stay calm."

Katharine swallowed as the officers drew near—and walked on by.

"I am calm," she whispered.

"I was talking to myself," the trooper explained as they maintained their methodical tread toward the far side of the enclosure.

"Oh, boy," Katharine whispered, this time to herself.

"Act nervous," the trooper advised her. "As if you're being sent to your doom."

Katharine swallowed. "Thanks for the tip. Not exactly the hardest thing to imagine at the moment."

"Well, if things go wrong, we're both facing the Dementor's Kiss. So, this better not go wrong."

As promised, the brooms were hanging from a grey rack in the far side of the enclosure. Well, more like levitating. The brooms hovered in place, waiting for their riders to take them. If one discounted its origins, its dark angles took on a deadly beauty. No one stood near it: no techs, no maintenance workers, and no guards. What reason could there be to have to post a guard beside a group of brooms in the middle of a Pure Order base? Still, they had to be careful. No telling if these brooms were jinxed if the wrong person sat on them, or it was being monitored by hangar security. Unfortunately, getting to the hanger had been the easy part. Flying out of it was going to be a different story.


	6. A Hellish Escape!

The Nimbus 4000s were spotless. The designers and maintenance crews had done their work well, leaving them ready for pilot and passenger. However, it was unlikely that just anyone could simply pluck them from their perch. Only members of the Pure Order could remove them for use. Thankfully, however, their security was also their weakness. The probability of betrayal was so remote that it was though improbable. At least, that's what the defector hoped for as he reached for one of the brooms.

"Careful…" his hand wrapped around the smooth broomstick. Then, with a single pull, the broom came free, vibrating in his hand. The young man released a long breath he hadn't realized that he'd been holding. Almost as by cue, the floor rumbled beneath them, a byproduct of the numerous devices that kept the massive flying vessel they stood on afloat.

"Come on. We don't have much time." He and Katharine mounted the broom. It was a true pilot who now settled herself into the command seat.

"Here, my spare." She nodded as she took the wand from him and slid it into her pocket.

She breathed deeply as she ran her hands across the stick. She could do this. When it came down to all, all brooms were the same, no matter their model. She had learned the secret when her father started teaching her how to fly at the tender age of five. Her family had been with a little obsessed with brooms to say the least. As she examined the broom, her father's words came back to her.

" _It's all about will, Kat. You have to show the broom that you are the boss. Otherwise, it'll buck you like a bull. You march right up to that broom and mount it like you've had it for a decade. That's how you're gonna win the Gryffindor Cup."_

Well, fate may have stolen the Gryffindor Cup from her, but her father's words still rang true to this day. A modern broom like this one would be naturally forgiving, its computational components engineered to compensate for pilot miscues and oversights. She was relying on the likelihood that the broom itself would automatically correct for any minor mistakes in judgment. Still, she still had to fly the damn thing.

Movement behind her caused her to glance back over her shoulder. Having shed his mask, the trooper who had freed her was settling himself into the passenger seat. Kat tried to project reassurance as she took a deep breath. The broom hummed in her hand, as if it too was in anticipation.

"We have to work together. I'll fly, you protect."

"Got it. Maybe we take a minute or two to go over the specifics?" he asked.

Freed from her shackles, then freed from captivity, Kat was not in a mood that allowed for a period of leisurely instruction. For one thing, she doubted she was going to have the opportunity. Any second now, someone was going to notice that one of the brooms was missing from the rack.

"No time," she whispered. "Consider this on-the-job training!"

She took a deep breath, and then kicked off. The broom shot into the air like a rocket. However, they were nearly thrown off when the broom suddenly stopped with a loud twang. They whirled to look down to see what looked like a long silver rope leading from the base of the broom to the rack.

"Aw bloody hell! A lanyard charm!" Katharine cursed. She should have known that getting the broom was too easy.

Inside the main control room for Hangar Three, a confused tech turned from his station to the officer passing close behind him.

"Sir, we have an unsanctioned departure from Bay Two."

The colonel halted, turned, and stared out the sweeping port that overlooked the hangar floor.

At the far end, a broom could be seen struggling to decouple from its support cabling. Neither the apparent preflight movements nor the fact that the lanyard charm was still engaged made any sense. That they were occurring simultaneously suggested a serious miscarriage of duty—or the inconceivable. A major sign, however, was that the pilot was not wearing any kind of uniform that he was aware of. In fact, that pilot looked rather like the one who they had just captured… realization hit him like a stupefy spell.

"Get me communications with security! Alert command, notify General Parkinson, and stop that broom!"

Throughout the _Avalon_ , confusion expanded exponentially. Off-duty personnel were roused to the sound of alarms ringing from the mounted speakers. Contradictory commands flew back and forth between bemused sections. A large majority of those alerted responded slowly and reluctantly, confident that what they were responding to was nothing more than a drill.

"We've got company!" SN-2187 yelled as he pointed at the hurriedly assembled Enforcers who were rushing onto the hanger deck, spells flying from their wands like fireworks at the bobbing broom. Several others were assembling what looked like a large muggle machine gun. He recognized it as one of the new prototype weapons that the Experimental division had been working on. He grunted in exasperation. Though, he supposed that he should be flattered that they had brought it out to use on them.

"Protego Maxima!" he roared. A bright blue shield erupting from his wand, deflecting several of the spells into the opposite wall.

"Okay—now would be a good time to start shooting!" Katharine yelled.

Behind her, the defecting trooper's gaze wandered desperately. "I'll do my best." He pointed at the nearly assembled prototype weapon.

"Reducto!" The weapon exploded, sending a large group of Enforcers flying in all directions.

"Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!"

A massive wave of curses from the defector filled the hangar. Enforcers were obliterated. Racks of brooms were reduced to flaming rubble, fragments ricocheted off the deck, ceiling, and walls. Enforcers ducked and ran for their lives. With their newly gained reprieve, the defector aimed at the control room. The officer realized what was going to happen a second before it did.

"Take cover!" He screamed before ducking beneath a panel. A second later, the windows exploded, sending those still standing flying into the opposite wall with a loud crash, showering them in twisted metal and glass.

Where moments before there had been calm, now there was bedlam, alarm, and fire.

"Hang on, I can fix this!" Katharine turned as she pulled the spare wand from her pocket and aimed downwards.

"Relasio!" A bright yellow light shot out of her wand, slamming into the silver cord. It shattered, exploding into dust. A musical sprang filled the air as they rocketed away through the hanger's barrier. They blasted clear of the _Avalon's_ flank, leaving in its wake a splay of smashed brooms, dead troopers, and an assortment of ruined accessory material.

""Whoa! This thing really moves!" Katharine whistled in admiration as they rocketed through the air. She turned back and gaped at the vessel they had just escaped from.

"A blimp? You people have been moving around using blimps?" It was far bigger than any Muggle blimp she had ever seen. It had to be at least five hundred feet long, and completely silver from front to back.

"Clever, huh? When muggles look at it, they only see an Avalon Corporation blimp! Works great as a mobile base, and way easier to transport large scale amounts of Enforcers if needed."

Katharine was becoming more and more comfortable with the broom. In a very short period of time, her mood had swung from fatalistic to exalting. Not only was she alive, not only was she free—she had a broom! And what a broom: a Nimbus 4000! Top of the line! Moved far superior to anything else she had ever flown before, even a Firebolt! She was certain of one thing as he maneuvered around the immense blimp: Nobody was going to make her a prisoner of the Pure Order ever again.

"I'm not going to waste this chance: I owe some people in that ship a little payback. We'll take out as many systems as we can. Hurt them right back. Maybe bring that thing down." He shook his head.

"Where's the weakest part of that blimp?" he was silent for a long minute, nothing but the wind whistling past them.

"Come on!"

"Okay! The underside and the tail. A lot of the control systems are based there. Hitting those won't destroy it, but enough damage will force them to stop to make repairs."

The defector had expected to run as far and as fast as the Nimbus 4000 would take them. "Shouldn't we apparate out of here as soon as we can? Before they mobilize against us?"

A tight, humorless grin crossed Katharine face. "Someone on that ship called me the best pilot in the Resistance. I wouldn't want to disappoint him. Don't you worry. I'll get us in position. Just stay sharp and follow my lead." She paused only briefly. "How about this? Every time you see the blimp, you shoot at it."

Still unhappy with the direction their escape had taken, SN-2187 relaxed ever so slightly. "I can do that."

It wasn't a broom, Kat told herself as she gleefully manipulated the broom. It was a part of her, an extension of her own body. She was ready to make them pay. For torturing her. For her father. For her sister. As spells began to lance out toward them from the immense blimp, he whirled and spun the Nimbus 4000, utilizing her own skills to avoid the spells. Taking them underneath the blimp, she weaved back and through the numerous gaps and openings through the metal support posts, executing maneuvers beyond the abilities of all but the best pilots. Several skirted the edge of believability. Katharine didn't care. She was free and she was flying.

Behind him, the renegade trooper unleashed spell after spell, mainly the Reductor Curse, triggering explosions in a frenzy of random damage that could only panic and confuse those on the vast vessel above them. Metal twisted and bent, others being entirely vaporized into metal dust.

Several perches loomed ahead, where Enforcers stood casting spells at them —but the trooper seemed content to fire indiscriminately at their surroundings.

"Dammit, a target is coming to you. My right, your left. You see it?"

"Hold on. I see it." He readied himself, then unleashed another powerful Reductor curse. The Enforcer barely leaped off in time before the metal platform exploded.

"What's that? Looks like a big gun!" she gestured up ahead, where a pair of looming cannons hung.

"Experimental cannons! They run on pure magic! Dozens of troops shoot spells into a central battery, which charges the cannons! They can use it for bombing runs or on squadrons of broom fliers! Like us!" Katharine shook her head. Unbelievable. This stuff had to be centuries beyond anything else like it. These Pure Order techs had been busy. Mixing muggle and magical technology like this had to violate so many laws!

"Hang on, I'll give you a clear shot!" Then, without warning, she completely pivoted, flying straight backwards at the looming cannons. The defector quickly regained his composure and aimed.

"Reducto!"

The whole gun emplacement erupted in a rapidly shrinking fireball. Debris spun around them as Kat whirled back around and took them through the devastation.

Unable to restrain himself, the trooper let out a cheer that echoed. " _Yes!_ Did you see that? Did you see that?"

Kat whipped the Nimbus 4000 around to the side of the _Finalizer_. "Hell yeah I saw it! What's your name?"

"SN-2187."

"SN-whaa?"

"That's the only name I know! The only they ever gave me."

The longing in the Enforcer's voice was all too human. That, and something more. Something that had driven him, among his hundreds, his thousands of colleagues, to step outside the comfort zone of training and regimentation, something that had ignited some exceptional spark of individualism within him. Something that had fought back against the brainwashing and memory charms. Katharine knew that spark was present in the man behind him, and she now made it her task to see that it did not fade away. But where to start?

"If that's the name they gave you, then I ain't using it."

"Really?"

"Yes! Tell you what. You're the defector, the lone wolf, right?" he nodded.

"So, I'll call you Maverick! How about that?"

Behind him, the trooper considered. A delighted smile spread slowly across his face. "Yeah, 'Maverick!' I like that! But now you're one up on me."

"Sorry?"

"I don't know your name. If you tell me it's GR-736 or something like that, I'm going to be seriously confused."

The pilot had to laugh. "I'm Katharine. Katharine Wood."

"Good to meet you, Katharine!"

"Good to meet you, Maverick!" The tender moment was cut when a purple spell whizzed inches past them. She whirled to see several other Enforcers on brooms grouping up behind them, firing one spell after another.

"Hang on, it's about to get a bit bumpy! We're not done hurting them yet!"

—

On the main bridge of the _Avalon_ , General Parkinson looked out the main viewing window in utter bisbelief at the absolute chaos unfolding in front of him

Parkinson could hardly believe what he had been told. Not only had the prisoner escaped, she had managed to find her way to an operational hangar, slip aboard an outfitted and ready-to-fly broom, and blast her way free. And not just any broom, but the fresh-off the line Nimbus 4000. If the proof had not been right in front of him, making a treacherous nuisance of itself as the ship's alarm's blared, Parkinson would not have believed such a thing possible.

A very slight shudder ran through the deck. As if by cue, Lieutenant Jackson ran up to him, her hair completely off regulation, flapping wildly behind her.

"They hit our underbelly and our cannons! Maintenance reports that the cooling system's been damaged, as well as steering and control! We're keeping it under control with Aguamenti charms at the moments, but we need to slow down so we can make proper repairs!" Parkinson hissed with rage as he clenched the railing in front of him.

He didn't understand. It was beyond comprehension. Prisoners _ran_ from prisons, they didn't stick around to assault their jailers. The action smacked of an unshakeable wish to commit suicide. What he knew of the escaped prisoner strongly suggested a desire to live. What had happened to change her?

Formal profile or not, of one thing he was now certain: They had badly underestimated what had seemed to be a Resistance pilot on the verge of physical and emotional collapse.

"Dispatch Squadrons Five through Eight. No restraint! Curse to kill!" Parkinson ordered. Jackson saluted before raising her wand to her throat and using the Amplifying Charm to repeat his order.

It didn't matter how skilled a pilot she was, there was no way she could keep this up forever. She had to know this. Though the vessel had taken some hits, it was far from fatal. This wasn't like the muggle ship _Titanic_. This vessel was extremely resilient, and the damage was already being repaired. The _Avalon_ was the peak of wizarding engineering, after all. Furthermore, time was her enemy. The longer she remained within the _Avalon's_ sphere of influence, the more forces could be brought against her, and the less chance she would have to make a second, more permanent escape. Not even Harry Potter or Victor Krum could outfly fifty Enforcers.

As if his day couldn't get any worse, a voice sounded behind him: unmistakable, controlled, and plainly displeased. "Is it the Resistance girl?"

Parkinson turned to face Lord Caldrin. Unable to see past the metallic mask, unable to perceive eyes or mouth, one had to rely on subtle changes in voice and tone to try to ascertain his mood.

"Yes, and he had help." Though Parkinson was loath to admit it, he had no choice. "One of our own. We're checking the registers now to identify who it was." Caldrin stood still for a moment before turning away from Parkinson.

While the all-concealing mask made it difficult to tell the focus of Caldrin's attention, it was clearly not on the general. "The one from the villiage. SN-2187." Parkinson felt a combination of feelings at that statement.

He felt unnerved that Lord Caldrin had managed to ascertain the identity of the rogue trooper before the ship's own command staff. But then, Ren had access to a great many skills that Parkinson lacked, much to his loathing. The other feeling was shock. He knew that designation. Or rather, the man that designation belonged to.

"2187? You mean Ma-"

"Yes. Him." Parkinson stepped close to Caldrin, until they were face to face.

"This is on you." Parkinson hissed. Caldrin cocked his head by the smallest of angles. Still, it said a lot.

Parkinson would have pressed further, but the taller figure had already turned and headed off. Caldrin's silence was far more unsettling than would have been anything as common as a simple insult. Though, that aspect

Shaking off the encounter, Parkinson turned his attention back to the lieutenant.

"The squads have engaged the target, sir."

"Excellent."

—

"Oh come on!"

Katharine gritted her teeth as the wind whipped past her face.

"It's getting crowded back here!" Maverick yelled as he deflected another incoming spell. That was an understatement. They were slowly being surrounded. For every one they managed to knock off their brooms, it seemed another ten took their place. Katharine shook her head. They had to get out of here. Taking a cue of her dad's book, she squeezed the stick and plunged straight downwards, falling like a rock. Right before she hit the ground, she pulled up and shot over a dune, as a dozen spells slammed into the ground, shooting up plumes of sand. She then arched upwards, sending them arching into the air like an arrow.

As she flew into the air, a hand reached forward and down to rap her on the shoulder. "Wait—this isn't right! Where are you going?"

"You mean, where are _we_ going. Back to the village, that's where."

" _What?_? No, no, no! Kat, we gotta get outta this _country_! That's the first place they're going to look for us!" The Nimbus rocked crazily as one near-miss after another reached them from the approaching Enforcers.

"I have to get to my owl before the Pure Order does!"

Maverick gaped at the back of the pilot's head. "Your _owl_? _OWL?_ What does a bloody owl have to do with escaping?"

"It's not about escaping. This whole business isn't about escaping."

"Could've fooled me." Feeling slightly numb, Maverick slumped back. "You must really, really, _really_ like this owl."

"He's... special. One of a kind. Orange and white. Utterly unique and utterly invaluable."

Maverick was flabbergasted. "I don't care _what color it is_! I don't care if it's capable of invisibility! No owl can be that important! Just buy a new one! THERE'S MILLIONS OF THEM!"

Kat let out a private, knowing grunt. "This one is, pal."

"Okay," Maverick countered, "you say that it's important. I'll tell you what's important, _pal_. Getting as far away from the Pure Order as we can, as fast as we can! _That's_ what's important. To me, anyway." He lowered his voice. "I saved your life, Kat! At the very least, you owe me mine. We go back to that village, we _die_."

"That's a chance we've got to take." The pilot's stance was unshakeable. "This isn't about my life, or yours. I'm sorry, Maverick, but there are far greater things at stake!"

"I don't care how important this owl of yours is, or what you and it are involved in. For you and me, Arron is another word for death."

"It's what I hid on my owl that matters! He's got a map that leads to Harry Potter!"

. "WHAT? You gotta be _kidding_ me! Harry Pott— I never should have rescued you! This is fuc-"

At that moment, their luck ran out. A yellow spell flew over his shield and slammed into the broomstick. A split second later, the Nimbus seemed to shatter, bursting apart in a bright flash, sending them both tumbling through the air.

"Kat!" he screamed as he fell through the air, the wind rushing past his ears as he flailed, plummeting towards the ground. Then, he felt a hand clamp onto his arm. He turned his head enough to see that it was Katharine. She screamed something, but he couldn't hear it. Colors flashed by his eyes. The blur of her jacket, the blue of the sky and brown of the sand, and the black blurs that were descending on him. Then, he felt a familiar tug at his navel. At that second, everything went black. He felt like he was being crushed to death, iron bands tightening around his chest; the thumping of his heart filled his ears.

Then he passed out.

—

On the _Avalon's_ command deck, General Parkinson had moved away from the observation station. Wandering across the deck, he proceeded to question a succession of technicians and fire-control officers, making sure that repairs were already underway. Nearby, Captain Goyle stood at attention.

The anxiety that had been building in him but which he had managed to keep restrained was greatly lightened when the lieutenant returned to him to report.

"They've been hit."

Parkinson's expression did not change, but inside he felt considerable relief. He studied the tech's console, his gaze flicking rapidly from one readout to the next. The details coming in appeared conclusive, but in this matter there was no room for mere ninety-nine percent certainty; no room for analytical equivocation. Personally, he detested muggle machinery. However, he had to concede its effectiveness. These systems were far more efficient and quicker than any owl.

"Destroyed?"

"Yes. However, before we could secure them, they managed to apparate away."

Parkinson pressed his lips together, quivering with frustration. This was not the report he wanted to deliver to the Supreme Leader.

"They apparated away?"

"Yes, sir." He took several deep breaths.

"Very well, then," Parkinson conceded. "They are disabled, perhaps fatally so. They cannot have traveled far in their current state."

"Yes. They must have gone back for the owl. We'll likely find them somewhere near the remains of the village." Captain Goyle added. Parkinson nodded.

"Very well. Send a squad to the village and instruct them to search for them. I won't accept that the pilot and the traitor are both dead until I have tangible proof. Bodies will do just fine."

—

Maverick gasped as he snapped back into consciousness, taking in a deep ragged breath. He was lying on his back, spead eagle. His whole body throbbed, as if he had just gone through a day long training session. He groaned as he managed to sit up.

Staggering clear, he took in his surroundings. His spirits fell. He was alive, but if the environment in which he presently found himself was anything to go by, not for long. To his relief and horror, he was completely and utterly alone. No sign of the Avalon or any Enforcers… and no sign of Katharine.

The dusky dune field stretched in all directions, to every horizon. Somehow blue sky and sand now seemed more forbidding than the blackness of space. The Pure Order bases that had largely been his home were sealed, environmentally controlled little worlds. Anything one needed was readily available, right at hand. Food, water, entertainment, sleeping facilities: All were no more than a few steps away.

Glancing skyward, he expected to see a broom-riding Enforcer or two dropping out of the clouds in hot pursuit. But his gaze was rewarded only by the sight of a pair of birds soaring southward.. At least they were not circling the spot where he had landed—or him. Yet.

"Kat!" he screamed as he looked around, half expecting to see the young woman emerge from over a nearby dune. However, he was met with silence. However, there was a small plume of smoke nearby.

He started toward it, struggling in the remnants of his armor. Logic insisted no one could have survived the crash. But logic also insisted that it was impossible to escape from a Pure Order vessel, and they had done that. However, he was also aware of the dangers of apparition under the best of circumstances. Falling from the sky was definitely not a good circumstance. Thankfully, he didn't feel any pain, and he couldn't see any visible signs of splinching. Still, he didn't know if the same could be said for Katharine Wood.

Not that it would matter if he was found here, wandering alive among the dunes. Of one thing he was certain: His former colleagues would not understand, no matter how hard he tried to explain. No one fled the Pure Order and lived.

The sand sucked at his feet as he stumbled toward the rising smoke. "Kat! Say something if you can hear me! _Kat!_ " He did not expect a response, but he hoped for one.

Flame had joined smoke in enveloping the remains of the Nimbus 4000. The once mighty broom was now nothing more but wood splinters. The flames were all but gone, leaving nothing but charred black wood.

Trying to shield his eyes against the smoke, Maverick moved in closer. Something—there was something sticking out of the sand. An arm.

Ignoring the heat, he reached in until he could get a grip on it. First one hand, then both, then pull—and it came free in his hands. No arm, no body: just Kat's jacket. And to his horror, there was something red glistening on the collar. Blood. He felt himself turn to ice. Had she splinched herself to pieces?

Drained of energy and overwhelmed, he started kicking at the sand, as if exposing a lower layer might reveal something, anything, familiar or encouraging. But each kick exposed only more sand. Looking around wildly, he saw only the silent dunes. It was as if nothing had ever touched this place; certainly not the hand of civilization.

He had escaped. He had survived. He had landed intact and apparently unharmed. And by the looks of things, he was just as dead as if none of it had ever happened. He inhaled deeply, then screamed at the empty land, knowing as he did so that there was no one around to hear him.

" _BLOODY HELL! I DON'T…KNOW WHAT…TO DO!"_


	7. A Fateful Encounter

It seemed impossible that the day could grow any hotter. It felt like it had been years since he started walking. However, he knew that it couldn't have been more than four hours at least. His skin felt like it was being fried. What he could see was a dark red. His complexion was the worst possible in this environment. To say he was sunburned was an understatement.

This being a day filled with one impossibility after another, however, Maverick felt no surprise as the heat continued to intensify. Squinting into the glare, he saw nothing in front of him but sand. Sand interrupted by more sand. Nothing but sand off to his left, sand off to his right, sand behind him… he completely lost it. He screamed as he dug his hands into the sand.

"I! FUCKING! HATE! SAAAAAAANNNNDDDD!" He screamed as he threw clumps into the air. He was met with silence. He moaned in frustration. Why couldn't they have landed on Hawaii? Stretches of beautiful beaches, gorgeous women in bikinis. He felt like he deserved some time in a paradise after the day he had just had.

A shape was coming toward him, sharp outlines resolving themselves out of a distant mirage. Nor was it silent. A rising, unsteady whine accompanied the rapidly expanding sight. A vehicle! Some kind of craft out here, in this blasted nothingness, and it was coming straight toward him! Staggering, he raised his arms and began yelling as loudly as his parched throat would permit.

"Hey! Here! Over here! _Hey!_ " At this point he didn't care who was in the vehicle, even if they were muggles. He just hoped that they weren't some crazy terrorists or something. He'd heard a few horror stories about what happened to people who looked like him in places like this. Although the American war had long since ended, there was still plenty of animosity left in places like these.

Though, that would be rather ironic, given that he himself had formerly been a terrorist this morning by every definition of the word. The vehicle was now close enough that he could tell that it was an old muggle jeep, clearly long past its dealership days. His hand reached for his wand. Worst case scenario, he could fight his way past a group of gun wielding muggles. He waved at the jeep, which slowed down as it came up to him. He was met with a group of men. They were dressed in tan outfits that covered most of their faces. He assumed that they were likely muggles.

"Help, I'm stranded out here! Water? Do you guys know where the nearest town is?" the men looked at him with blank expressions.

"English? Do you guys speak English?" The driver looked at him like he was an idiot. Then, without any warning, one of the passengers hurled a bucket of foul-smelling water in his face. He sputtered in shock as he stumbled back. The men roared with laughter, yelling at him in a language he couldn't understand and making rude gestures. Then, they rocketed on, leaving in their wake only dry dust and derisive laughter. He coughed as he tried to wipe the water from his face.

"Thank you!" He added a mock bow. "Oh, yes, kind fellow travelers, thank you so very much! Thanks a lot! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU ALL TO BLOODY HELL!" He screamed as he flipped off the fading dust cloud. He continued muttering under his breath, utilizing words and phrases so foul that he would have gotten slapped in the face if he'd been in the presence of a woman. Still, he supposed that he should be grateful that it didn't turn violent.

No need to concern himself with anything like that anymore, he knew. He was no longer a Enforcer in the service of the Pure Order. Cursing and foul water was the least of his problems. He groaned as he tried to wipe the water away from his face. However, all he succeeded in doing was getting sand on his face. He continued on his trek, slogging through the sand. One step after the other, that was all he focused on. His uniform had already been stripped to its bare essentials, leaving his robes, mask, and armor in the sand behind him. All he was wearing now was his jumpsuit and Katharine's jacket, which even the jumpsuit was inconvenient due to its black color. Her jacket did offer some shade if he draped it on his head, but even that didn't help in the long run. After another hour and a half, he stopped and took another breathing break.

Where the bloody hell was he? He recalled reading once that the deserts in Africa were tens of thousands of kilometers long. This wandering among and between dunes was taking him nowhere. And he couldn't just wander around forever. Dehydration would get to him long before that. Worse, he couldn't apparate anywhere. He needed a goal, a destination for that. Not to mention that all magic left some sort of trace. Chances was high that the Pure Order had scanners set up in order to pick up any trace of magic. The Pure Order would swoop on him in an instant. So, he had to rely on the hope he could find a nearby settlement. His gaze rose. To find that, he needed to acquire a more thorough view of his surroundings.

There are physical tasks more daunting than climbing a steep sand dune, but few that are as frustrating.

One step sliding backward for every two up, and that assuming the climber didn't lose his footing and roll all the way back down to the bottom of the sand hill. Determined to make it to the top, Maverick kept fighting, legs churning, until at last he stood on the crest of the small, sandy mountain. His first glimpse of his surroundings was as disheartening as he had feared: more sand, piled into slightly lower dunes.

But in the distance off to his left, was that…could it be…

Yes! A settlement! What kind he did not know, but a settlement would have water and food and shelter from the sun. He didn't care if it was muggle or wizard. He started carefully down the far side of the dune he had so painfully ascended. At least now he had a destination.

He was not yet willing to allow himself any hope.

—

General Parkinson was frustrated. And when he was frustrated, he was angry. He reviewed the file in front of him carefully. When analyzing a psychological profile in search of an anomaly, one looked for small clues. A bit of correspondence, a favored quote, even the posture of the individual in question: Any of these might suffice to point to an explanation for the Enforcer's inexplicable behavior. He did not expect to find a picture of SN-2187 holding up a sign that read "I am going to go berserk and free a prisoner and steal a Nimbus 4000." Still, it felt like an impossibility. Their Obilivators were thorough. After the procedure, every subject was thoroughly examined to ensure that no trace of their past lives remained in their minds. Nothing except total devotion to the Pure Order. They did not even allow them to retain their former names. Though, he supposed that he and Goyle were among the very few exception, as they had willingly turned and joined the Pure Order.

Personally, he had protested against this particular acquisition at the time. Too old, he had thought. It was better with the younger ones, as their minds were less formed and more susceptible to memory charms. Still, they had taken quite a few of the older ones as well, and nothing wrong had occurred with them either. So, what was it about this one that made him unique?

Yet still, he found nothing. No sign that he had regained his former memories or harbored treasonous thoughts. It was maddening.

Light from the ceiling reflected off the chrome-clad figure standing beside him.

"Nothing noteworthy," Goyle said. "SN-2187 was assigned to my division, was evaluated, and sent to reconditioning. Nothing suggested he was harboring rebellious thoughts. "

"Any sign that he regained his memories? That he recognized you from before?" she shook her head.

"Absolutely not. Any signs of this occurring would have been reported immediately. He has shown no signs of recognizing me or any of his former classmates, or referred to any of them by name."

Parkinson shook his head slowly as he continued to scrutinize the records. It wasn't just this betrayal that bothered him. The implications were far worse. This brought to light the possibility that the others might be facing the same symptoms. They could not be permitted to know what he had done. Olbiviators were already hard at work counseling those who had come into contact with him, whether through unremarkable everyday interaction or in the course of his violent flight, as well as examining those from before, to ensure the charms were still in effect. The whole incident had to be tamped down, obscured, and buried lest the germ of an infection spread through the ranks.

"This was his first offense. However, I suppose that he should have been under closer observation. He was always the more… stubborn back at Hogwarts. Resilient. Those trails were what made him so effective. Personally, I thought he would be promoted to officer before long." Goyle added, showing a brief lapse in her professionalism. Parkinson shouldn't have been surprise. Goyle had always been a bit… in awe of SN-2187 before.

Entering the room, Lord Caldrin moved to join them. "Finding the flaw in your spell workf and training methods won't help recover the owl." Although his mask concealed his facial expression, the rage simmering below his calm demeanor was almost palpable. Parkinson glared at him.

"Quite frankly, my lord, this one is on you. Do you recall what I told you, so long ago? I warned you that keeping him alive was a mistake. That you should have killed him. But no, you just had to keep him alive as a trophy, didn't you?" Parkinson was shocked at his own boldness, but he didn't waver. Caldrin looked at him for what looked like an eternity. Then, in one swift motion, Caldrin smashed his gloved fist across Parkinson's face, causing the general to stumble. Goyle didn't move as she looked down at Parkinson, her mask betraying no emotion. Parkinson knew that if it came to blows, she would do nothing.

"I don't listen to you, General. Remember who outranks who." Parkinson glared at him as he wiped a sliver of blood from the corner of his mouth and stood up. He respected Caldrin and his abilities, but he was not afraid of him. One did not rise to the rank of general in the forces of the Pure Order by showing fear.

 _Typical, Parkinson thought. "Self-centered, arrogant, quick temper. You really haven't changed that much since Hogwarts, have you? Only now, the face matches the soul." However, Parkinson didn't linger on it. Back to business. As much as they hated each other, they shared a common goal._

"The Supreme Leader made it explicit that the Resistance cannot acquire the map to Potter. Capture the owl if we can. Destroy it if we must. The creature itself is insignificant. It is what it carries that we seek. "

Caldrin paused to consider the general's words. "A simple enough task, or so it would seem. Find one owl. Just how capable are your soldiers, General? Or did the Oliviators erase their skills along with their memories?"

Parkinson turned away from the file.

"I won't have you questioning the Supreme Leader's methods."

"What methods would those be, General? Those that allow a single common trooper, when he was supposed to be in reconditioning, none the less, to free an important prisoner from confinement, escort her to an operating hangar, and assist her in fighting their way to freedom? What methods teach such expertise? Or maybe he was able to shake off the memory charms and remember his past? If so, then your charms need work. Perhaps Supreme Leader Salazar should consider hiring a mercenary army."

It was with great difficulty that Parkinson restrained himself. "Mercenaries are scum. They're only loyal to whoever pays them the most, and can turn on their employers, should their enemies offer a better bargain. Our men, on the other hand, receive exceptional instruction. They are programmed to be loyal to one another, to their officers, and to the Order. They have no memory of their past. No memory of their families, parents or siblings. They are no longer Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or Slytherins. They are The Pure Order."

Caldrin slowly brought his hands together, a mocking clap.

"Very artistic. Tell me, did you rehearse that speech? Or just come up with it on the fly? I can't wait to hear what the Supreme Leader thinks of it." A vein throbbed on Parkinson's head.

"The appearance of a single abnormality does not give you the right to question these methods. In the six years since the acquisitions, we have never suffered an single incident —"

Caldrin interrupted the general's impassioned defense. "Keeping the map out of the hands of the Resistance shouldn't be a problem, then. Yes?"

"Again, this map. Which for all I know may or may not even exist."

Caldrin's voice darkened to a degree that caused Goyle to take a step backward. "I do not think I care for your implication, General. You would be wise to keep such thoughts to yourself. You would be wise not to think them. Perhaps it was a mistake not to obviate you."

Parkinson held his ground. "My duty is to fight for the Pure Order. That was in the oath I took. That is the oath I have sworn to uphold, the day I joined the Pure Order. Did I not prove my complete loyalty the day we fought alongside each other at Hogwarts?" His gaze did not flinch from the mask. "There was nothing in it about accommodating the ancillary interests of individuals, no matter how high their rank or how exalted their perceived importance. Careful, Caldrin, that your _personal interests_ don't interfere with direct orders from Leader Salazar. Especially since it was _your_ personal decision that caused this whole mess in the first place!"

If Lord Caldrin was affronted by the general's boldness, he did not show it. As if nothing had passed between them, he turned to Goyle. "Have you and your officers reviewed the close-in maps of the village's former position?

"Yes. That region is home to only one wizarding settlement of consequence: Tralina Outpost. If the owl is still in the area, it would instinctively try to hide there. Rest before flying for the longer journey."

Glad of the opportunity to change the subject as well as to report something positive, Parkinson replied in a more amenable tone of voice. "I concur. Furthermore, we found the traitor's robes and armor. It was strung out along a single trail in the desert, where it had been abandoned. While the viewable footprints were interspersed among the dunes, they form a consistent pattern heading toward Tralina." He smiled thinly at Caldrin. "A strike team is already en route."

"Good. I am pleased to see that you are personally in charge of this, General. Of retrieving the owl—preferably unharmed. I do hate hurting animals."

Before Parkinson could object again, Caldrin turned and departed back the way he had come. If he felt the hate flowing in his direction from the senior officer behind him, he chose not to respond to it.

—

The sun had badly burnt him, dehydrated him, and tormented him—but it had not beaten yet him. Not yet. What was a little sunburn, Maverick told himself, to someone who had defied the Pure Order and lived to tell about it?

His body begged to differ, shouting its displeasure at its recent treatment and threatening to collapse at any moment as he finally stumbled into Tralina Outpost. Merchants and traders eyed him speculatively. Maverick carried nothing of value save his wand and his organs, and judging by his exterior, his insides were not likely to be in very valuable condition, either. Some scavengers pointed and joked. Others, having suffered similarly from blowing sand and grit and sun, expressed murmured sympathy. That was all the help the stranger was offered. Tralina Outpost did not coddle the weak.

"Water? Water?" he gasped, nearly begging. But, he was met with no answer. He looked around desperately, his throat throbbing worse than ever.

Then, finally, his eyes fell on a massive water trough. Only problem, something flat, fat, and ugly was drinking from it. Gaping at it, Maverick could not imagine what such a creature could possibly offer that would induce someone to provide it with drink. It looked neither friendly, valuable nor edible. He didn't care. It was the water he was interested in, and it was to the water he ran.

Cupped hands dipped, drew the dingy liquid to his mouth, and held it there for him to sip. It felt wonderful against his lips. But, it tasted awful going down his throat. A horrible gag burst out of his lips, his face scrunching up in disgust.

He spat, revolted. It was the turn of his body, however, to override his brain. Fighting down the urge to gag, he drank. The unsightly lump of four-legged flesh eyed him owlishly but otherwise ignored him. For all Maverick knew or cared, the squat quadruped found him equally disgusting. He sighed as he looked back at his reflection. The man who looked back at him was a ghost of his old self. His regulation combed and jelled hair was completed disheveled, now a blonde, ragged mess. His exposed skin was bright red, and his face was coated with sweat. Well, at least he could rest for a minute.

—

May sighed as she nibbled on the corner of her last loaf of bread. Her stomach rumbled, clearly not happy. She groaned. All that money… she could have bought a feast. Made a new life for herself. But she didn't. Not to mention she likely just cut off her only source of income. Her mouth had a tendency to get her in trouble, didn't it? And all because of the owl. The owl that she had no reason to care about. But yet… she rolled her eyes as she patted the owl on his head, causing him to hoot loudly.

"Easy, easy—you're going to exhaust yourself! You're welcome for me not selling you." She saw no reason to add that she had come very, very near to doing exactly that.

"Any chance you can tell me who you're waiting for? Not that you can talk, I know. But do you have any notes on you? Any messages that can tell me who you're supposed to be going to?" she tried to take a look at the owl's leg, but he suddenly got extremely defensive, screeching and flapping his wings.

"Whoa whoa!" she would have pressed the matter, but she was interrupted.

She recognized the approaching pair as two of Garnook's thugs. Halting, they towered over her: twin masses of mobile meat swathed in cheap desert clothing, even their faces completely covered. May had always wondered what exactly were they? She personally thought they were part giant. Or just really burly guys.

Garnook wouldn't send such as these to deliver a polite message. With a glance at Eighty, the nearest was quick to confirm her suspicions.

"Garnook wants the owl, girl. We take owl. Female don't interfere."

"The owl is mine," she shot back. "I didn't sell him. Garnook knows that."

"You right," agreed the other thug. "He knows that. You didn't sell. So he take." In a move so fast that one wouldn't expect from a man that size, his companion pulled a sack over the owl. When May moved to stop him, the other speaker grabbed her arm.

—

After drinking as much water as he could before vomiting, he finally stumbled away from the trough and fell on his back, groaning out loud. He was torn between deciding whether to vomit or pass out. However, his attention was deviated by a loud scream, causing him to sit up in curiosity.

This new perspective gave him an excellent view of the confrontation that had started up in the nearby marketplace, a young woman being attacked by two larger men. He frowned as he darted over, looking from behind a large pile of crates.

Rising, he impulsively moved to help her. However, he quickly realized she didn't need his help.

Despite the difference in size between the girl and her assailants, it was looking as if she was not in need of any outside assistance. She slammed her elbow into the first brute's stomach, causing him to grunt in pain and stumble back. This gave her the opening she needed to whirl and kick him in his… sensitive area. Maverick winched as he subconsciously covered his own private region. The brute bellowed in pain as he fell to his knees. The girl then pulled a wand out of her pocket.

"Stupify!" a red light shot from her wand and smashed into his face, causing him to crumple into the ground.

When his companion rushed to assist his downed associate, he found himself on the wrong end of a ferocious assortment of very nasty spells. One in particular made him scream in terror as black bats flew out of his nose and swarmed his face, causing him to run off screaming.

"Ouch. Remind me to never piss off that girl." Impressed, he watched as she pulled the half-closed sack off the property that was the apparent source of the dispute. What he saw was nothing like what he expected. It was an owl. A brown owl with orange markings…

"No bloody way…" he breathed, so shocked that he stepped out from the crate and took several steps forward.

 _Kat's owl._

As the girl spoke to it reassuringly, it shook itself, turned its head, and saw Maverick. Whereupon it twitched to one side and began screeching widely as it started hopping towards him. He was so startled that he reflexively took several steps back. The girl ran up to the owl and picked him up.

"What's wrong with you? Stop fighting, you're gonna hurt your wing even worse!" Still, the owl struggled in her arms. She frowned as she looked from Eighty to Maverick.

"Him?" Then, wordlessly, she came at him.

He whirled and ran, trying to find a path through the marketplace, wondering what he had done to set her and the owl off, and more than a little bewildered at the turn of events.

As he bumped into displays and knocked over goods, he drew the ire of one merchant after another. His flight finally came to an end when, after turning several corners and thinking himself in the clear, he turned one last corner and found himself facing the girl and the business end of her wand.

"Oh fuc-"

"Stupify!" a red blast shot from her wand and slammed into his chest, knocking him clean off his feet, slamming on his back. He grunted as the breath rushed from him like a river. Not that it took much of a blow to bring him down. He was completely drained from his trek through the desert.

She stood over him and planted her foot on his chest.

"Going somewhere? And didn't your mother ever teach you not to curse in front of a girl? Horrible manners. Well, I suppose thieves don't exactly have the best manners to start with, do they?"

Lying on his back, out of breath, and not much caring if he passed out, he looked up at her. She held the wand over him, ready to strike again if necessary.

Blissful unconsciousness would have to wait, so shocked was he by the unexpected accusation. _"What_ … _?"_ Before he could elaborate, the owl hopped off her shoulder and nipped at his fingers. It was painful enough to sit Maverick bolt upright. Then, the owl landed on the jacket, which had fallen off when she cursed him.

" _Ow!_ Hey, what…don't do that, watch the fingers!" He looked up at the girl.

"Stay down or I'll have to curse you again. The jacket!" she picked it up off the ground, ignoring the owl's hoot.

"Property of Katharine Wood…" she frowned as she looked at Maverick.

"You're not a girl. So, where'd you get the jacket?"

Badly in need of food and clean water, he was forced to settle for taking a deep breath. "Listen, I don't want to fight with you. I've already had a pretty messed-up day. So I'd appreciate it if you didn't accuse me of being a th— _Ow!_ " He glared at the owl, who had just bitten him again. " _Stop_ _it_!"

"Okay then." May was both unimpressed and unwilling to give the traveler the benefit of the doubt. "Prove it. If you didn't steal it, how'd you get it?" She gestured at Eighty. "based off the way Eighty here is freaking out, I'm gonna assume that this jacket belongs to his owner. This… Katharine Wood."

It took him a long moment to process what he was hearing. In the end he made a tricky decision: to tell the truth. He stared evenly at the distressed owl, then up at the unyielding girl.

"Look… his owner's dead."

By their reaction, it was plain that neither the owl nor girl had expected quite so blunt a response. Nor one so definitive. When May lowered the tip of her wand, he continued.

"She was a member of the Resistance, got herself captured by the Pure Order, but I helped her escape." he spoke calmly. "I broke her out of her holding cell. Together we stole a Nimbus, did some damage to them." She goggled at him.

"The Pure Order? Are you serious?"

He gestured at Eighty. "We couldn't flee out of the country, cause she insisted she had to come back for the owl." A soft, almost mournful hoot came from the owl. "We got shot down, but we managed to apparate away. I made it, but Kat didn't. All that was left was that jacket. I tried to help her. I'm sorry."

Now, one would be surprised to learn just how similar most animals were to people when it came to grief. The little owl let out a mournful hoot as it hopped up on May's arm and snuggled on her shoulder, closing its eyes. She softly patted its head as she turned back to Maverick. Her hostility had given way to both surprise and awe.

"You escaped the Pure Order _and_ stole a Nimbus?"

He nodded vigorously. "Not just any model. A Nimbus 4000. Katharine was the pilot. I was the passenger and deflected all the spells I could. Though, I couldn't exactly hold back dozens of Enforcers chucking spells at us forever."

She studied him more intently. Even a bit of admiration. "So—you're with the Resistance?"

Taking into account the way she gripped that wand and how her dark brown eyes were burning into him, it was easy enough to know how to reply: This time he lied.

"Obviously," he told her, drawing himself up. "I'm with the Resistance, yes. I am. I'm with the Resistance. Who else would have helped a Resistance pilot escape the Pure Order except another member of the Resistance? I'm surprised you have to ask. Though I am a bit surprised that you know about the Pure Order and the Resistance, out here in the middle of nowhere."

She relaxed, leaning lightly on the heels of her feet. "Most visitors to this place are traders and troublemakers. But they hear things. And they gossip, especially when they get drunk off their asses. And I'm a very good listener." She tapped her ear with a small smile.

"Though I gotta admit, I've never met a Resistance agent before."

Maverick was amazed by his own acting as he puffed himself up. "Well, this is what we look like. Some of us. Others look different. After all, not all of us can look so devilishly handsome. You can call me Maverick, that's my codename. I'm a lone wolf, the guy they send to do the really dangerous stuff." May looked impressed.

"Pleased to meet you, Agent Maverick." He grinned.

"Now that you've met one, what's your opinion?"

May rolled her eyes.

"First? That you've got to come up with a better pick-up line. Second, you need to work on your skills. I got the drop on you way too easily."

He slumped slightly. "I'm out of practice. I just spend the last six hours stumbling blind through that hellish inferno!" she looked him over.

"I can tell. Actually, I'm impressed that you're still alive. Most guys just vanish out there."

"You're very sympathetic." She shrugged.

"It's a harsh world out here. Not much room for sympathy." Then, she pointed at the mourning owl on her shoulder.

"So, this owl is a member of the Resistance too?" he nodded.

"Yeah, his name's Eighty. He was Katharine's owl. Apparently, he's carrying a map that leads to Harry Potter, and everyone's insane to get their hands on it." May stared at him with a shocked expression as she pondered this explanation.

"Harry Potter? The Harry Potter? The boy-who-lived?" he nodded.

"Yep. That one."

"Bloody hell. I thought he was dead. I mean, that's what all the rumors say."

Maverick gaped at the girl. Was she serious? Harry Potter? Dead? The Pure Order would have declared his death for all to hear if that had been the case.

"Really?" was all he could think of to say. He might have added more if not for the sudden interruption from a stream of excited hoots.

May frowned. "What is it?" She looked up, past the now concerned Maverick. "Over there?"

Trailing her gaze, he was able to make out in the distance the hulking forms of the two thugs who had attacked the girl and tried to steal the owl. They were not alone. His heart shot up into his chest. The sun gleamed off the bright black robes of two Enforcers.

"Oh… fucking… crap…" Even worse, these enforcers had grey stripes on their right shoulder. Those were what represented their rankings. Total black were the most basic. Grey stripes meant sergeants, who were more skilled than the basic ones.

One of the banged-up hooligans was pointing in their direction.

Grabbing May's hand, he ran backward into the maze of tents and temporary structures that formed the marketplace.

"Hey!" May yelled, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Eighty, come on!" Maverick yelled. Unlike May, the owl needed no urging. He dug into May's shoulder with his claws, causing her to yelp in pain.

"Seriously! Both of you!"

A moment later a pair of spells obliterated the spot where they had been standing. A third struck a cleaning unit, which immediately began spewing smoke and corrosive fumes. Still holding tight to May's hand, he darted in and out among the flimsy structures, dodging outraged owners and piles of goods alike.

"GOD! FUCKING! DAMN IT!"


	8. An Explosive Escape!

"Let go of me!" May screamed, her hair flapping across her face. She ducked as a yellow spell shattered a nearby crate, showering them with wood splinters.

"We gotta move! I know how they…" Mindful of what he had told her, he backed up and began anew. "I mean, as a Resistance fighter, I'm familiar with Enforcer procedure. We in the Resistance have to be knowledgeable about such things." As he ran, he nodded back the way they had come. "Those two would rather identify us from smoking bits and pieces. Saves the trouble of having to ask questions."

"I'm not disputing that!" She finally managed to free her fingers from his. "I know how to run without you holding my hand! I'm not some brainless bimbo!" Skidding to a stop, she gestured sharply to her left. "No! _This way_."

Another curse from behind just missed them. By now a general panic had seized the denizens of the marketplace. Those who weren't scattering in every direction were doing their best to shield their stock. Their efforts slowed but did not halt the pursuing Enforcers.

May and her companions hunkered down inside a larger tent crammed with storage boxes, crates of salvage, and other detritus. Peeping cautiously through a gap in the pile behind which they'd taken cover, she muttered urgently at Maverick.

"They're shooting at both of us! Why are they shooting at _me_? I haven't done anything!"

He knew exactly why they were shooting at her, and he felt terrible about it. But there was nothing he could do. Not now.

"They saw you with me. You're marked."

Her lips tightened. "Thanks for that. Marked as what?"

He didn't respond directly. "I'm not the one running around cursing people!" While staying hidden, he tried to scan their surroundings, searching desperately for a quick way out.

Behind them, Eighty was quivering slightly. His eyes were wide as saucers, and his wings shook. "Are you okay?" May tried reassuring the owl.

"What is it? What's going on? I don't hear anyth—"

Maverick shushed her with a gesture, listening intently. She started to object, thought better of it and went quiet. A rushing sound quickly got louder. Maverick's blood went cold, for this was a sound he was more than familiar with: the sound of a Nimbus 4000.

Behind him, Eighty was growing increasingly agitated. Without a word, the owl spun and flew toward the rear of the settlement, seemingly fighting against his injury. Maverick responded almost as quickly, grabbing May's hand and pulling her after him.

" _Stop taking my hand!"_

A loud rush made them both look up to see a black-clad Enforcer sweep over their heads.

A second later, a massive explosion ripped up the storage area, its contents, and the ground just behind the fleeing trio, sending them tumbling through the air.

May let out a shocked yell as the concussion threw her hard to the ground. She came up groaning and rubbing her sore back. Finally, it was starting to dawn on her just how serious the situation was, and just how much danger she was in. It was one thing to crawl around tombs, but getting blasted at by Pure Order Enforcers? That was another whole level of crazy.

Where was Maverick, anyway?

She found him nearby, unconscious. Getting a grip on his jacket, she rolled him over. The white and orange owl joined her a moment later.

"Hey! HEY! WAKE UP!" she slapped him across the face. There wasn't much medical hand-holding out here in the desert. He let out a loud groan as he came to blinking at his surroundings before his attention settled on her. Swallowing, he managed to gasp out, "Are you okay?" May stared at him with a stunned expression.

That was the first time anyone had asked her that question in a long, long time. For a brief second, she flashed back. A throbbing pain echoed from the back of her head, making her flinch.

" _You okay, kid?"_ May shook her head. This was not the time nor place to start getting weak in the head.

"Yeah," she murmured. Her attention flicked between the fallen figure beside her and the blue sky that had turned abruptly deadly. "I'm okay. You?"

He peered down at himself as he sat up. Everything of consequence appeared to be intact and in place. "Think so. Too close."

She stood and extended a hand. He glanced at it, his gaze rising to her face, then gratefully accepted her offer of assistance.

"Follow me," May said. She turned and broke into a run, Maverick following close behind.

Around them, Tralina Outpost was in complete disarray. Explosions had torn tents and other buildings apart, scattering merchants, traders, scavengers, maintenance workers, and every other innocent bystander in a panicky search for cover. Typical. If there's one thing one could count on out here, it was that practically everyone was a coward. Every man for himself mentality. Another explosion made May race even faster. She had to reach her broom! Above her, a squadron of five Enforcers soared, blasing everying they could reach.

Wand strapped to her waist now, May led her companions onto the sand-scoured clearing that served as the town's transportation dock. There was a general rule that everyone had to leave their various modes of transportation there. That way, no one could pull a fast one and make a quick getaway. Which was now rather ironic, as it might be the thing that would get them killed.

Looking back, Maverick saw the pair of Nimbus 4000s bank and turn. He had no doubt what they were looking for.

" _We can't outrun them!"_ he yelled.

She pointed to her broom, propped up against the exterior fence. "We might, with my Firebolt!"

"We need a pilot!"

"We got one!"

He gaped at her. _"You?"_

They ducked simultaneously as the two Nimbus 4000s roared past overhead. But instead of firing at the tiny figures, they directed their spells at the fugitives' destination. May watched in horror as the Firebolt exploded in a ball of flame, flinging bits and pieces of itself in all directions as the detonation scorched the landing area. Throwing up their hands, May and Maverick shielded their faces from the heat and flying debris. When they lowered them, nothing was left to be seen of the Firebolt but a smoking pile of rubble.

May let out a horrified choke. She had had that broom for as long as she could remember. It felt like a part of her. But, now wasn't the time to mourn lost mementos.

"Oh bloody hell—the garbage it is then!" she raced towards a large bulging object, partially covered by several protective sand tarps.

"What is this?" Maverick yelled. May grabbed the tarps and pulled them off, revealing… a motorcycle.

Maverick gaped.

"You can't be serious!" he sputtered. It was a large muggle motorcycle, complete with a sidecar. It looked like something one would drive through the American West with. What the bloody hell was it doing out here?

"We don't have many choices at the moment!" She hopped into the driver's seat, which she seemed to almost shrink into. She grabbed the helmet hanging off one of the handles and strapped it on.

"How is this thing supposed to help us? This isn't exactly the place for driving!"

"For your information, this thing can fly! I think." Maverick gaped at her.

"You ever fly this thing? Or anything like it?"

As Eighty looked on, she shouted back to him, "Nobody's flown this old scrap heap in years!" She pulled on a set of goggles.

"Then what makes you think it'll get off the ground?" he called.

Her reply was grim. "If you prefer, we can leave and try running across open desert while being shot at!" Just then, another spell landed particularly close to them, sending up a plume of sand.

Having no comeback for that, Maverick slipped down and buckled himself into the sidecar's seat. He felt a bit idiotic, to say the least. He grunted in surprise at a strange feeling. He reached down and pulled out a large birdcage.

"Where'd this thing come from?" he asked in bewilderment.

"Put Eighty in it! This is gonna be a rough ride!" Maverick sighed.

"Sorry!" the owl let out a loud, angry screech as he was forced into the cage. He sat on the perch and let out an angry screech. Maverick groaned as he forced the cage between his legs, keeping it secure.

She reached for the keys, which were surprisingly in the ignition, and switched it on. It gave a loud rumble, but then fell silent. She cursed angrily.

"Oh, come on!" She turned the keys several times more, getting the same result. Maverick cursed as he looked up.

"They're coming around!" May shook her head in frustration. One of three things would occur when she turned it, she knew: They would lift off, the bike would blow up, or nothing at all would happen. Not good odds, but the only ones they had. She took a deep breath and punched the control. "I can do this, I can do this—" Then, she turned the key for a fourth time, and the motorbike came to life in her hands. She cheered silently as she revved the engine.

"HANG ON!"

There was a great roar from the motorbike, and Maverick felt the sidecar give a nasty lurch. They shot off the ground like a rocket and soared into the sky. Maverick very quickly wished that he had a pair of goggles as well. They were rising through the air fast, his eyes watering slightly, hair whipped back off his face. His legs, jammed into the sidecar by Eighty's cage, were already sore from the trek through the desert and starting to go numb. Still, it wasn't a perfect lift-off. The motorbike let out several terrifying loud sputters and dipped in the air.

"Oh bloody hell!" May cursed again. The motorbike spun and careened wildly, nearly crashing back to the ground. Wrestling with the unfamiliar controls, May managed to level off just in time to bounce over several of Tralina's flimsy buildings, causing them to collapse into rubble.

Below, the small figure of Garnook emerged from a collapsed structure to scream at the sky. _"Hey! That's miiiiine!"_

Higher and higher they climbed into the sky, leaving Tralina Outpost far behind. May had never really practiced on something like this, only fooled around with abandoned muggle vehicles she had found in the desert.

Finding the odd craft surprisingly responsive to manual control, an increasingly optimistic May spun it around and accelerated. The group of Enforcers that had been blasting up the town immediately gave chase.

May headed skyward, relieved to feel the bike's increasing power as they soared away from the surface.

"Stay low! It's our only chance! If we go high, they'll outmaneuver us and run us down before we can apparate! They're quicker and more agile than we are, especially in this junkpile!" He yelped as a purple spell whizzed by them.

"Can't you fire back?!" she screamed.

Next to her, Maverick continued to struggle with his cramped seating. "Try sitting in _this_ thing!" He turned and aimed at the Enforcers, a daunting task, given the cramped seating and nonstop shaking.

"Stupify!" the red spell shot wild, not even coming close. It did make the Enfocers scatter, if only briefly.

"Oh, come on!" May gritted her teeth as she dug into the throttle, trying to make the bike go even faster. Eighty screeched in anger, as he was bouncing around the cage like a rag doll.

"Sorry Eighty! Just hold on!"

"What do those do?" Maverick screamed as he pointed at the vast array of buttons on the bike's console.

"I don't know! Now's not the time to be pressing random buttons!" A green spell shot between them, smashing into the back of the bike, creating a loud grating noise as the bike shuddered.

"PRESS SOMETHING!" he roared. May shook her head, but ran her hand over the panels before slamming a green button near the fuel gauge.

A wall, a solid brick wall, erupted out of the exhaust pipe. Craning his neck, Maverick saw it expand in midair. Three of the Enforcers swerved and avoided it, but two were not so lucky: they slammed into the brick wall and fell away, dropping like a rock into the desert like bullets, quickly vanishing into the endless wastes. Yet, the others still persisted, completely ignoring their fallen brethren.

"YEAH! NICE!" Maverick roared as he thrust his fist into the air. May smiled as she gripped the handles. Two down, three to go.

"I'm going low!" she shouted, mindful of Maverick's advice.

Driving the bike surfaceward, she pulled up at the last possible moment and sent them screaming across the ground, clipping the crests of at least two dunes, sending the top layer of the sand scattering in every direction. Her goggles protested her, but Maverick gagged as he tried to spit sand out of his mouth. Just then, an idea came to him.

"DO THAT AGAIN!" He yelled. May turned briefly to boggle at him.

"What?"

"DO IT!" In no mindset to question him, May accelerated the bike towards the next dune. Just as they passed over it, he aimed downwards.

"EXPULSO!" The sand blew upwards like a massive plume, but he wasn't done there.

"Obscurus Coverus!" the sand suddenly went rigid, and then shot backwards like a swarm of ants, right into the Enforcers, causing them to rapidly slow in their speed, trying to clear their visage. And that was the opening he was looking for, something they had drilled into him over and over again. Between the blasts of wind and the shaking of the bike, he aimed.

"STUPIFY!"

The jinx hit the middle Enforcer in the chest. He flew backwards, as if he had been fired from a cannon, while his broom continued on without him. He flailed for a minute before crashing face-first into the ground.

"Wooo! That showed them!" he cheered as they rocketed away. A second later, a pair of spells slammed into the rear of the bike, narrowly missing the engines.

"Or… maybe not."

 _Tougher than it looks_ , May thought as she strove to accelerate and dodge. The original owner had plainly had some serious, and probably illegal, modifications made to his vessel that in numerous wizarding governments were worthy of fines and possible imprisonment. She resolved to thank that individual profusely if she ever had the occasion to make that acquaintance. Provided she survived the next hour.

A blast rocked them, and she barely managed to hang on tightly enough to avoid a looming sandstone monolith. Swallowing, she yelled as loud as she could.

"Could use some offense down there, you know? Maybe before our bloody body parts are scattered everwhere? Y'ever gonna fire back?!"

"Working on it! If you didn't notice, I just took one out!" Maverick yelled at her. May snarled as she tightened her grip. Desperate, she slammed a purple button next to the speedometer.

With an unmistakable bellowing roar, a massive plume of fire burst from the exhaust, white-hot and blue, and the motorbike shot forward like a rocket. She let out a laugh, the wind rocketing through her hair as the surrounding desert blurred around them. She knew that she should be terrified, but a part of her wasn't. In fact, she was actually having fun! Heck, this was the most fun she had had in years!

"My eyes!" Maverick screamed as he tried to cover his face. May snorted.

"Are all you Resistance boys these big of pansies?" Maverick glared at her. Whatever rebuttal he had for her, it was interrupted by a purple spell that missed them by such a narrow margin that the hairs on both their arms stood up.

"Oh COME ON!" he roared as he fired back, once again missing its target. He cursed. Blasted masks. They had been designed to be resistant to the elements, and filter out any foreign elements in order to ensure the wearers retained perfect vision. He supposed that he had been lucky enough to hit one of them.

 _Just a little farther_ , she told herself as she clung grimly to the controls. _Just keep them off a little longer_. She was heading for her favorite flying spot: Let them try to follow her in there! She banked hard, low enough to cut a crease in the sand.

"We need cover!" he yelled even as he kept firing. "Quick!"

"We're about to get some! Right ahead!"

"What are you talking abou… Oh no. No! No! No! No!" Maverick screamed in horror. May grinned as she thrust the bike into a steep dive.

One of the few benefits of living so long in Tralina Outpost was that she had become more than familiar with every dune field, every canyon, every muggle and wizard town in a fifteen mile radius. Keeping as close to the ground as possible, she rose and darted over rocks and dunes, grazing one upthrust ridge so closely that she took a chunk out of it. She had to be smart here. The Enforcers had speed and agility, while she had bulk and durability. But that wouldn't last long. So, she decided to go the more… creative route. As they cleared another dune, they were met with the sight of... airplanes, a rather significant amount of them, all in a serious state of disrepair. It was a ghost town, a vast swatch of muggle machinery left to die. Whoever had lived here had long since abandoned the installation. May had once heard a rumor that the place had been a muggle military base several decades back. She wasn't sure if that was true. But what she did know was practically every inch of this place, as she often spent much of her free time flying out here on her Firebolt, practicing her skills. She plunged straight in, narrowly missing the cockpit of a small jet.

Unwilling to sacrifice distance to gain altitude in order to attack from above, the two Enforcers stayed close.

As she sent them snaking into the enormous field of derelict muggle machinery and other industrial waste, leading them on a hair-raising chase.

Trailed by the surviving Enforcers, the bike slalomed through the colossal debris field. Sparks flew as she grazed towering metal walls and fallen cockpits, but the hull of the borrowed craft held together. As he was banged around in the sidecar's seat, Maverick tried to keep track of their remaining pursuers while peering out at a trash-paved surface that frequently came entirely too near to where he happened to be sitting.

Yet another blast rocked their craft. They couldn't keep this up forever. This was a motorcycle, not a battleship.

Ahead lay the bulk of a downed 737, its mass inconceivably large where it rested on the sand. Many of them were close enough together that they, in a way, formed one long tunnel. That was partly due to May herself, who had… nudged the planes together, in order to give herself more of a challenge. Pulling on the controls, she drove the bike downward—and into the gaping breach that was the decapitated body of the plane tunnel.

If she hoped this maneuver might dissuade their remaining pursuers, she was wrong. Unwilling to give ground, the remaining Enforcers went in after her.

As he sat gawking out the sidecar, a disbelieving Maverick gawked.

" _Are we really doing this?"_

Sparks continued to flare from the bike's sides as May negotiated one increasingly narrow passage after another. The Enforcer followed, shooting off one curse after another. They barely missed and instead hit the walls, which let out a loud groan as orange fire bloomed out.

"Bloody hell!" May slammed another button, which this time caused a great net to burst from the bike's exhaust. The Enforcer didn't even have time to bank before he slammed into the net, wrapping around him like the tendrils of a Devil's snare. He let out a roar of rage as he slammed into the floor with a sickening crunch, rolling over and over as his Nimbus shattered into splinters. His partner, however, somehow managed to squeeze through and continue after them.

"One left! Get ready!" she yelled to Maverick.

He nodded energetically. "Okay, okay! I'm ready!" Then he frowned. "Ready for what?"

Uninterrupted light appeared at the far end of the corridor down which she was flying. Then they were out, flying in bright sunlight. The instant the bike emerged from the decaying guts of the old plane, she pulled back on the handles, sending the bike into a steep climb. Then, just as the last Enforcer emerged from the plane, she cut the power just so and swung the bike completely around. For what seemed like an eternity, they plummeted down like a rock, the only sound the wind whistling in their ears.

Now heading directly back _toward_ the immense junk pile, Maverick found the final Enforcer directly in his sights, and he reacted accordingly. Whether it was their vessel's sudden and unexpected reappearance from the sky or the shock of what seemed to be a suicide plunge, the Enforcer's fire missed. But Maverick didn't.

"REDUCTO!" The bright blue light shot from his wand and smashed into the Enforcer's Nimbus, causing it to blast apart in a massive explosion. May then pulled up hard as she turned the key, causing the bike to roar back to life. She slammed the purple button, causing another jet of fire to blast out of the exhaust, sending them rocketing into the sky as the flaming remains of the last Enforcer crashed to the surface in their wake. Working the controls, a jubilant May sent the bike accelerating into the clouds. Those, and the sun-blasted desert, soon fell astern, leaving them surrounded by a sea of blue skies.

"YES!" Maverick cheered, and May couldn't help but cheer right with him, pumping her fist into the air. However, as she brought her hand down, she accidentally elbowed the center console, winching in pain.

"Ow!" then, she noticed something that had popped loose: a bright blue button, right in the middle of the head of the bike, right between the handlebars. She hadn't seen that button before. What made this button so curious was that it had big black letters across it, which simply said "HOME." Curious, May reached for the button and pressed it. The second she did, the entire bike shuddered.

"Whoa! What did you just do?" Maverick yelled. Eighty let out a loud hoot between his legs as the bike let out a second groan as it started to vibrate. May let out a shocked yell as the shaking intensified.

"I don't know!" May screamed, her heart thundering in her ears. Then, just as the shaking reached a fever pitch, the motorcycle and its occupants simply vanished with a loud pop, leaving the skies deserted.


	9. Old Meets New

High above the smoldering ruins of Tralina Outpost, the blimp Avalon loomed, an intimidating presence. On the blimp itself, the external observation deck on the _Avalon_ allowed anyone standing before it an uninterrupted view. For anyone currently on the deck, that view was mainly an endless void of sand. The only viewer on the deck to see this void, at the moment, was no other than Lord Caldrin himself. He regarded it in silence. He had been trained in contemplation, was skilled in deliberation, could remain meditating just so for hours at a time. To concentrate on focusing his powers. Intensifying them. Yet, Caldrin suffered from a flaw, the same one he had suffered from long before he had been known as Lord Caldrin: a severe lack of patience.

Approaching from behind, all Lieutenant Jackson could see was a tall, caped figure silhouetted against the spray of yellow. Yet, she knew just what that man was capable of. And the agony she was very likely about to endure. She did not look forward to having to make the report. It was her responsibility and she had no choice. Not that was it the first time she had been compelled to deliver bad news to a superior officer, but this was far different than other high-ranking officials in the Pure Order. Caldrin was notorious for his… outbursts. At that moment, Jackson would rather have been anywhere else in the civilized galaxy than alone in a room with Lord Caldrin.

He did not turn. He did not have to. She knew Caldrin was as aware of her arrival as if he had watched her approach. It was almost like the man had eyes in the back of his head.

"Something to report, Lieutenant? Or have you come, like myself, to marvel at the view?"

"Sir?"

A gloved hand rose to take in the sweep of light arrayed before them. "Look at it, Lieutenant. To the untrained eye, this is a wasteland. A barren shadow. Like the surface of another world, seemingly inhospitable. Yet… appearances are deceiving. Life thrives here, through both the plants and animals that live here. So much beauty, so much potential for something new. From this desert, could spring a forest.

In a way, we are but an infinitely smaller reflection of the same conflict. It is the task of the Pure Order to remove the disorder from humanity's existence, so that civilization may be returned to the stability that promotes progress. Once, wizards ruled over muggles as kings. But, the Vow of Secrecy made us weak. We hid from the muggles out of fear. And thus, the world, bit by bit, dissolved into anarchy. Essentially, we are two worlds divided. It is our duty to end centuries of division. To end the reign of corrupt governments, including the Ministry of Magic and MACUSA, and guide both the wizarding and muggle worlds to a new era, under our rule. Future historians will look upon this as the time when a strong hand brought the rule of law back to civilization."

Jackson stood silent, not saying a word. She wasn't one to discuss politics, _especially_ not with Lord Caldrin. Finally, he turned. Despite them being roughly a few inches apart in height, she felt like he towered over her. She could see her reflection in his mask, a warped, distorted version, like a funhouse mirror. He reached out and brushed under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. She shuddered. She always found it unsettling to have to gaze at the metal mask beneath the cowl.

"Perhaps we can discuss this more thoroughly tonight… in my quarters." Jackson swallowed, her heart hammering like a drum. Days like these, she really hated her natural beauty. Normally, she shot her fellow officers down. How could she say no to Lord Caldrin? That was paramount to suicide.

"I'd be honored… sir." He nodded. She had a feeling that he was smiling under that mask. Like a wolf looking at his prey.

"I… have a report for you, my lord." She pressed her lips together, silently dreading the news she was about to give. Standing at attention, she presented her brief report.

"Sir... Despite our best efforts, we were unable to acquire the owl." Lord Caldrin didn't seem to react at first. He stood stiff, like a statue. One of the benefits of a mask, no one could see the emotion on your face. Jackson swallowed nervously, fearful of his reaction.

"Unable to acquire the owl? How is that, Lieutenant? Do not tell me, Lieutenant, that the owl was vaporized."

Jackson swallowed hard. "No, sir. At least, not as far as we are able to determine. Reports from our assault force indicated that the owl fled on a… motorcycle." Caldrin cocked his head, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Did I hear you right? Because I must be under the influence if I just heard one of my officers say the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard of. " she nodded.

"Reports from our troopers on the ground indicate that the owl escaped capture by taking flight aboard a stolen white 1959 Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville. An antique vehicle, but one that had apparently been heavily tinkered and charmed with, thus giving it the ability to fly. And in the hands of a competent pilot, a capable one."

Atypically, a touch of uncertainty colored Caldrin's response. "Again… the owl stole a motorcycle?"

"Not exactly, sir. Again, according to these preliminary reports, it had help." she was starting to sweat. "We have no confirmation, but brief glimpses by our Enforcers lead us to believe that SN-2187 may have been—"

She broke off as Caldrin let out a roar and reached for his wand at his belt, whirling as he raised the shaft of wood high and blasted the walls. Jackson winched as she pressed her eyes shut, sparks and shrapnel whizzing by her head. She strove to remain perfectly still, to control his breathing, to become as invisible as possible lest he become nothing more than an inadvertent recipient of his fury. Whether by chance or design, Caldrin spared her.

Finally, the taller man lowered his wand and turned to the wretched bearer of bad news. He spoke calmly, as if his mad, destructive rampage had never occurred.

"Anything else?"

"The two were accompanied by a girl." Reaching out, a black-gloved hand clutched the startled lieutenant and pulled her violently forward. She let out a choked gasped as he wrapped his hand around her throat.

" _What_ _girl_?"

—

May let out a loud groan as she blinked. Her entire body felt like iron. She took a deep breath, struggling to draw breath into lungs that felt flattened. She blinked again as she let out a loud groan, struggling to stand up, ignoring the throbbing in her back. Slowly, she realized that she wasn't in the bike, but in the middle of a bush, as well as that the gaudy glare in her face was sunlight streaming through a canopy of leaves far above her. She felt like she was being poked in practically every part of her body. Then, she heard someone yelling her name.

"May! May!" A minute later, Maverick's face came into her vision, abeit upside down. He had an expression of worry on his face, which quickly turned to relief.

"You okay?" May snorted.

"I will be. You mind pulling me free?"

"Oh, sorry." He then reached for May's outstretched hand and pulled.

With one tug, May broke free, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

"Ow." May groaned as she sat up. Thankfully, it felt like nothing was broken. She did have several twigs in her hair. She brushed those out as Maverick got to his feet. Turning to her as she slowed, he gave her a wide, disarming grin.

"That was _some_ flying!"

"Thanks." She shrugged. "I've been flying every kind of junk you can imagine almost since I could walk. I'm glad I got to mess with the bike before today." It was her turn to smile. "Speaking of which, that was some shooting! I was worried you wouldn't have time to react, between the shaking and the spinning"

"You could have told me what you had in mind. Might've saved me a heart attack or two. I mean, seriously! I'm not even twenty five yet!"

She shook her head. "No time. I had to pull the turn almost as soon as I thought of it. I just had to rely on your ability to react to the maneuver."

He nodded. "Good thing my hands were frozen to my wand. When all of a sudden he showed up in my sights, all I had to do was twitch my fingers."

"You got him on the first shot!"

His smile gave way to a touch of self-satisfaction. "It _was_ a pretty good shot, wasn't it?"

"It was perfect!" May told him. It was silent for a long moment before he murmured, "Why are we…"

"Staring at each other? I don't know…"

The need for possibly uncomfortable answers was obviated by a series of distant screeches, making May realize something.

"Where's Eighty? Is he okay?" Maverick nodded.

"Yeah, I left him with the bike to go look for you." May grimaced.

"How bad is it?" Five minutes later, she had her answer. She let out a loud moan as she looked over the bike. After they had apparently reapparated, the bike had made a crash landing in the middle of a clearing. The bike itself had been embedded into the ground, with the front buried several inches into the ground, with the rear dangling in the air like the Titanic. The rear wheels rolled listlessly, making a soft creaking noise. The headlight was hanging out of its socket, dangling from just a few wires. The frame had taken quite a few hits as well, and the front tire was flat. But, another screech shifted her focus to Eighty, who was still perched in his cage inside the sidecar, nestled like a piece of luggage.

"Hey, calm down! You're okay, we're all okay. For the moment, at least." My unlatched the cage, allowing the owl to fly free and land on a nearby tree branch. He then let out a flurry of hooting and screeching, clearly angry at the earlier day's events.

"Sorry! Would you rather be a pile of ashes?" she rolled her eyes at the owl's rebuttal.

"I'm confused. Can you understand him?" Maverick asked, baffled. May shook her head.

"No, do I look like Dr. Dolittle to you? It just seems to calm him down, that's all."

She waved at Eighty and indicated Maverick. "Everything's going to work out fine. He's with the Resistance and he's going to get you home. We both will. I promise, I'm not going to abandon you now. Not after turning down the kind of payment Garnook was offering." More hoots, to which she responded, "I'm just kidding. The amount wasn't what mattered. I just got a huge charge out of being able to deny that wrinkled bastard something he wanted so badly."

Having calmed the owl, she returned her attention to the other occupant. "I don't know your name."

Startled, he realized that on that score he was equally ignorant. "SN-2—Maverick. Name's Maverick. What's yours?"

"My name is May." This time when she smiled, all trace of the hardened, desert-dwelling scavenger melted away. It was a sweet smile, he found himself thinking. Warm. He repeated the name, enjoying the way his lips parted as he murmured the single syllable.

"May…" Then, he frowned as he looked around.

"Where exactly are we?" he asked. May shrugged.

"I… don't know. One minute, we were flying over the desert. Then I pressed this button on the dashboard, and we just vanished." May pointed at said button, and Maverick inspected it.

"Home? What does that mean?" May shrugged.

"Maybe… it's some type of automatic recall. It automatically brought us somewhere." Maverick snorted.

"That's an understatement. We're basically in the middle of bloody nowhere! WHY did you press that button in the first place? We were in the clear!"

"I was curious, sue me! Plus, I'm pretty sure we just put a considerable distance between us and the Pure Order!"

"Okay… but where are we? We could be anywhere, from Siberia to the freaking Rocky Mountains!" May wasn't showing it, but she was shivering. After so long living in the desert, being in a cooler climate was like being in an ice bath.

He would have said much more, but this time it was the bike itself that interrupted. On the far side of the lounge, a section of the exhaust vale broke loose, causing white smoke to cascade into the air.

"Shit!" May cursed as she gestured at the exhaust.

"Reparo!" a loud screech filled the air as the broken part zoomed back and reattached itself to the bike, abeit at a different angle than before.

"This won't be perfect, but it'll hold for now. This is the kinda thing that needs a bit of hands-on repair. Unfortunately… I'm not exactly a mechanic." Then, May turned towards Maverick.

"I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty sure that we are in some deep crap. I'm not sure how long we can stay ahead of the Pure Order. If this map is the real deal, then you guys need to get back to your base as soon as possible. If I'm going to take you two there, _I need to know where_!" Maverick swallowed. What the heck was he supposed to say? Katharine hadn't told him where the blasted base was before they had been blasted out of the sky. He couldn't just make something up, that wouldn't go well. He really, really started to wish that he could speak owl.

"That's… classified." May snorted.

"You're kidding, right? Is that a joke? Seriously, if you want me to drop you guys off there, you have to tell me where."

"Wait… drop off? You're not staying with us?" May shook her head.

"Look, I'll take you guys to London once this bike is repaired, but that's as far as I can go. You should be able to make contact with Resistance representatives from there."

"But… what about you? What are you going to do? If anyone besides those Enforcers saw you with us, your face is gonna be plastered everywhere! If the Order doesn't haul you in for questioning, reward-seekers and bounty hunters will be scouring every port in hopes of picking you up. Better for you if you stick with us." He threw Eighty a quick glance. "The Resistance will protect you."

She shook her head.

"I… I need to get back. I'm looking for someone."

"You're a _pilot_. You can go anywhere. Why go back? You got a family there? Boyfriend? Cute boyfriend?"

"None of your business, _that_ _'s why_." The argument probably would have continued, but Maverick's well-trained ears caught something. He held up his hand.

"Sssssh!" May looked shocked.

"You don't shush me, Resistance boy." he gestured hectically, trying to get her attention.

"Be quiet for a second! Someone's coming!" May instantly shut up, causing silence to take over. Now, they both could hear the sound of distant voices.

"I think I heard something!

"This way!"

"Down here!"

The two looked at each other, fear blossoming in their chests.

"That can't be good," Maverick murmured.

"No, it can't be," May agreed. She waved at Eighty and gestured, outstretching her arm. Eighty, understanding the signal, took off and landed on her arm.

"Think it's the Pure Order? There's no bloody way. We apparated out of there! We have to be hundreds of miles away!" Maverick swallowed. May noticed the pale expression on his face.

"What?"

"There's been some rumors. Supposedly, the Pure Order's been experimenting with some new technology. A way to track someone after they've apparated." May gaped.

"Seriously?" Maverick nodded

"If it is them, they've got us. This bike isn't going anywhere anytime soon." May reached for the key and tried to turn the ignition. The bike let out a loud grumble, but nothing else. Maverick groaned as he massaged his forehead. If this was the Pure Order, it was all over. Everything they had just gone through would be all for nothing. They would both end up sharing the same fate as Katharine Wood. Especially in his case. The Pure Order had never had a desertion before. Thus, they would be extremely creative in whatever execution they had for him.

"What do we do?" May was saying beside him. She kept trying the ignition, to no avail. "There must be _something_."

He still could not look in her direction. "We can hide or die."

She refused to accept it. _"_ _I_ _'_ _m not a coward! I don_ _'_ _t back down from a fight!_ _"_ He grabbed her arm.

"Look, this thing isn't going anywhere, you just said it! Let's hide over there, and see who's coming for us. If it actually is the Pure Order, we can jump them before they know what's happening. If not… maybe it's a bunch of muggle, in which case we can get the bike fixed." May paused, but nodded.

"Okay, let's go." She was plainly impressed. "You Resistance guys really know your stuff. Eighty, go hide!" The owl let out a loud hoot and took off, vanishing into the treetops.

He smiled uneasily. "You know what they say: Know your enemy. We're trying to win this war." They raced for the edge of the clearing and dove into the bushed, listening to the sound of voices.

"I'm telling you, it came from over here!" Then, opposite to Maverick and May, a figure burst through into the clearing.

"Well… those aren't Enforcers." May whispered. It certainly wasn't.

It was a young man, around the same age as May. He was dressed in muggle clothes, a tan jacket with jeans. He had dark red hair and a swatch of freckles across his face, with a certain… handsome, charming look to him. May had seen it before, on a few of the travelers she had seen back in Egypt. Girls usually went nuts for that sort of thing, but not her. He had a look of absolute disbelief on his face as he looked at the motorcycle.

"No. Bloody. Way!" he goggled at the motorcycle, looking at it like it was a ghost.

"HEY! OVER HERE! YOU'RE NOT GONNA BELIEVE THIS!" A second later, two more figures came through the brush. One of them made Maverick and May gape. It had to be the largest man that they had ever seen. He towered almost as tall as the trees, around twelve feet tall. A giant of a man. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of grey hair and a wild, tangled beard of the same color, but they could also see his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair. He also had a giant crossbow in his hand, a bit intimidating to say the least.

Next to him was a much smaller man, with an expression of surprise on his face. It filled a face scarred with know-how, aged by experience, and world-weary—characteristic of someone who lived through a lifetime of hardship and adventure. It was obvious that he was the father of the young man, as they shared the same face and stance. His hair, however, had turned gray, with only a few light traces of its former color remaining. Its color was surprising, considering that the man didn't seem to be that old. He was clearly a wizard, given the wand he held aloft in his hand, like a baton.

His eyes were blue, his gray hair tousled, and he wore the look of a man who had seen too much, too soon, and been forced to deal with idiots and monsters all too often. His evident age notwithstanding, the hand holding the wand neither shook nor wavered. Eying him, Maverick felt he knew the type if not the man. His only fear then was that the man might shoot first and ask questions later. Thankfully, he did not. Then, the large man let out a cry of surprise and delight.

"Bloody hell, me bike! I don' believe it!" He raced over to the crashed motorcycle and examined it.

"What happened to yeh? How'd yeh get like this!" he moaned as he looked at the broken headlight. He looked like a little kid who'd broken his favorite toy.

"Well, it looks like it's seen better days, Hagrid. Bloody hell, I haven't seen this thing in years. Not since I was a little kid in Grandpa's garage." The younger man added as he looked at the exhaust. The older man frowned as he ran his free hand over the handlebars.

"Very observant, Hugo. I, however, are more concerned with how it got here. Last I checked, dad didn't add a self-driving option. Especially after that… incident with the Ford Angelica. Clearly, someone drove it here." Then, he paused, causing Maverick and May to hold their breaths. Then, like lightning, he whirled towards them.

"Come on outta there! Don't try hiding!" May gaped at Maverick, who returned the look. How did he know they were there? Then, the man fired off a red spell, which blasted into the tree next to them.

"Get outta there. Come on out. No funny stuff. We're watching you."

"Wait, don't shoot!" then, reluctantly, she and Maverick raised their hands and slowly stepped out of the brush, coming face to face with two wands and a crossbow pointed at her face.

"Well, hi there gorgeous." Hugo said with a smirk on his face. He frowned as he looked at Maverick, as if he was trying to figure something out. The older man had a startled look on his face, before a determined one took over. His attention focused on May, he almost smiled. When he did, there was a hint of something half playful in his demeanor. But only a hint. And there was nothing whatsoever lighthearted about the blaster he kept pointed in their direction.

"Where are the others?" the older man demanded.

"The-there's no one else, just us. And an owl. I—I'm the pilot." He snorted.

"Given the mess you made, you're clearly not the best at flying a motorcycle." May scrunched up her nose at that comment.

"Hey, I'm actually pretty good, you know. I didn't crash on purpose! We were trying to avoid getting blasted into pieces by the Pure Order!"

"Pure Order?" Hugo asked with a shocked expression.

Impatiently, their captor gestured ever so slightly with the tip of his wand. "Where'd you find this motorcycle?"

"Egypt." She saw no reason not to tell the truth. "Tralina Outpost, to be specific."

Dropping his lower jaw to signify his disbelief, he stared back at her. " _Egypt?_ Tralina Outpost? That place is a dump!"

" _Thank you!"_ Maverick said. "Dump!" His original opinion confirmed, he shot May a look that was pure I-told-you-so.

"Who had it?" the old man continued. "Fletcher?"

Again, she thought: no reason to prevaricate. "I stole it from a goblin named Garnook."

Brows narrowed as the weathered visage wrinkled even more. "From who?"

"Look." Taking a chance, May lowered her hands so she could spread her arms wide. "I don't know all the details for sure. I'm not privy to Garnook's private accounting. But talk says that he stole this bike from the Weston Boys, who stole it from Fletcher."

"Who stole it from _me_!" the large man boomed, causing them both to flinch.

"I thought you said you lost it in a bet, Hagrid." Hugo said with an amused expression. Hagrid sputtered.

"Well… I… he cheated!" the giant sputtered.

"That doesn't matter anymore, Hagrid." Then, the old man turned towards May.

"Well, you tell him when you see him again, you tell him that Ron Weasley just stole back this bike, for good!"

May and Maverick's jaws dropped.

" _You_ _'re_ Ron Weasley," she said, looking at him with a complete look of awe.

This time instead of a smile, a grin: part amused, part knowing, and maybe a little bit bitter. "I used to be." He then turned away from them, thoroughly inspecting the bike.

Maverick found himself equally dumbstruck. Here right before him, close enough to touch, was a celebrated figure from the past. Well, he corrected himself, from the fractious past, anyway.

"Ron Weasley?" he queried hesitantly. "The auror?"

"Yes!" May nodded, almost bouncing on her feet.

"Wasn't he a war hero?"

"Yep. And my dad. Hugo Weasley, pleasure to meet you." Hugo interrupted. He reached out and shook May's hand, flashing her a large, dazzling smile. He then kissed her hand, causing May to blush.

"Whoa, Casanova." Maverick interrupted, stepping between the two of them. Hugo frowned, his eyes narrowing as he glared at Maverick. Then, a look of disbelief came across his face.

"I know you. Are you…" he began to ask. Maverick stared at Hugo with a stunned expression.

"What did you just say?" Then, they were interrupted by Ron.

"Hagrid, I'll fire up a Portkey and send them back to Egypt. Or anywhere else they want to go."

"Wait, no!" May moved toward him. A stern stare halted her in her tracks but could not silence her. "We need your help!"

His brow wrinkled. " _My_ help…" Then, May raised her hand and whistled. A second later, Eighty flew down and settled on her arms, causing the three newcomers to look at them in surprise.

"This owl has to get to the nearest Resistance base as soon as possible!" May pleaded

"He's carrying a map that leads to the present location of Harry Potter." Maverick added. The three newcomers froze in their tracks, as if they had turned to ice.

"Arry?" Hagrid was the first to speak, saying the name softly, as if he was recalling a distant memory. Hugo had a look of shock on his face, looking towards his father.

"Dad? I think we should hear them out." Ron was silent, a grim expression on his face.

"You _are_ the Ron Weasley who fought in the Second Wizarding War. You knew Harry Potter." "Knew him?" The flinty stare had gone hazy, the strong voice soft. "Yeah, I knew Harry. He was one of the first friends I ever made. We went to Hogwarts together. Solved god knows how many mysteries together. We went through hell together." he trailed off, before focusing on May and Maverick.

"I think that I want to hear the rest of this story. Come on, let's get caught up over dinner."


	10. Rough Interrogations, Bad Negociations

May shifted nervously as she looked down at the small bowl of soup in her hands. She felt a little… awkward to say the least, in her present situation. Currently, she was sitting on a downed tree trunk next to Maverick, courtesy of Hagrid, who had pulled a tree down for them to sit on. After Maverick's little announcement about Harry Potter, the trio had brought May and Maverick back to their campsite, which apparently consisted of two-small sized tents and a large bonfire, which they were all currently sitting around. As it turned out, they had landed in the Black Forest in Germany, hundreds of miles away from Egypt. It was a welcome relief from the frigid cold, which May was having a hard time adjusting to in her scavenger garb. Hugo helped a bit more by draping his robe around her, at his insistence.

Across from them, Hugo sat next to Ron, both of them giving the others curious looks. Hagrid sat on the side on his own log, tending to Eighty's bad wing. The motorcycle sat next to a nearby tree, which had been carried there by Hagrid, who had picked it up like it was nothing and carried it like a loaf of bread.

"Tha's it, little fella." Hagrid soothed the indignant owl as he wrapped its hurt wing in gauze.

"Is Eighty gonna be okay? He's been through a lot." May asked, her voice filled with concern. Hugo chuckled, earning an exasperated look from her.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine. Hagrid used to be Professor of Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. He's taken care of hundreds of owls." Hagrid let out a chuckle.

"Yeh owl's okay, just a ruffled wing. Thankfully, it's not broken. He's a pretty determin'd fellow, just needs some rest fer a few days, and he'll be good as new." A smile broke on May's face.

"That's great to hear. I've grown to like this owl." She paused as she swallowed another spoonful of soup. Frankly, the soup was not exactly… delicious. Still, she wasn't going to complain, given how hungry she was. Still, Hugo noticed her expression and chuckled, stirring the soup in his own bowl.

"I know that this stuff isn't exactly a five-star meal, but we make do with what we can. It keeps our stomachs full. Days like this make miss my mum's cooking." He joked. Ron rolled his eyes at his son.

"I can cook, you know." Hugo rolled his eyes.

"Sure, Dad, sure. And you didn't turn my birthday cake into a charred hulk." He winked at May. Ron cleared his throat.

"Anyway… I want to hear the rest of this story. All of it. And if you're lying, I'll know. I used to be an auror." May nodded as she looked at Maverick, who silently swallowed. May spoke first, briefly detailing her life as a scavenger, finding Eighty, running into Maverick, getting chased by the Enforcers, stealing the motorcycle, and finally their chase away from the Enforcers.

"And that's pretty much everything. But Maverick can tell you more. He's a member of the Resistance." Ron raised a greying eyebrow.

"The Resistance, huh?" Maverick gulped. He was screwwwwwed. There was no way he was gonna fool the legendary Ron Weasley. Still, no backing away now. He survived the Pure Order, nothing could be worse than that.

"Yep. The Resistance. I'm in the Resistance, On special orders from General Granger herself." A smile broke on Ron's face.

"Oh really? How is the general these days? I can't believe she set up the home base in Hawaii. She must have quite the tan though, huh?" Maverick couldn't help but hide his release of relief, though tinged with suspicion. Was this a trick? It would make sense that he would ne suspicious

"Oh yeah, perfect location. She's certainly darkened a shade or two." Ron nodded.

"Okay. I thought so." Then, with speed that one wouldn't expect from a man of his age, he sprang from his seat and tackled Maverick, pinning him to the ground. Maverick let out a grunt as his gaze was met with dirt. May let out a shocked gasp as she leapt to her feet.

"What are you doing?" Ron gestured at Hugo, who grabbed May's wrist to hold her back. He gave her a subtle shake of the head.

"Give him a second."

"Exposing the truth. Your friend's not in the Resistance." May's expression turned from shocked to one of confusion.

"Wait, what? But I ahhhh!" Maverick let out a cry of pain as Ron yanked his right arm up and pulled the sleeve down.

"Hey!" Ron ignored him as he looked closer. Then, he nodded.On Maverick's arm were a series of black numbers and symbols, branded onto the skin. Maverick let out another yelp of pain as Ron twisted his arm, showing it to May, Hugo and Hagrid.

"See this? This is an Enforcer marking. It's how the Pure Order marks their Enforcers for identification. And your friend's real name, according to this, is… SN-2187." Maverick's stomach sank. Hagrid and Hugo both let out grumbles of anger.

"A spy, huh?" But what made it even worse was the look of absolute hurt and betrayal on May's face. He might as well have hit her or stabbed her in the chest.

"Bu-but he helped me. He saved my life! He killed the Enforcers that were chasing us!" May protested.

"So? Wouldn't surprise me if the Pure Order was playing the long game. Send in a spy, have him kill his own men to sell the story, and have you lead him right to Harry and the Resistance Base. It wouldn't be the first time they've pulled that trick. " Hugo pointed out.

"No! Mo no nonononononono! I'm not! I'm not an Enforcer! I quit! I defected!" he screamed.

"Bullshit! No one defects from the Pure Order!" Hugo snarled. Ron simply cocked his head in curiosity.

"How do I know you're telling the truth? You could be acting for all I know, SN-2187."

I swear, I'm telling the truth!" Maverick pleased. Ron frowned.

"I see…" Then, Ron turned to Hagrid.

"Hagrid, do we have any Veritaserum left?" the half-giant nodded.

"I got yeh, Ron." The giant rummaged through a large knapsack, before pulling out a small vial of dark liquid. Ron sighed before releasing Maverick, letting him scramble away, letting out several loud rasps as he rubbed his throat.

"Here yeh go." Ron took the vial from Hagrid, giving Maverick an amused expression.

"You know what this is? What it does?" he nodded.

"I'm gonna give you three drops. If you're telling the truth, you have nothing to fear. You have a problem with that?" Maverick had a terrified expression on his face, but nodded slowly. His heart beat like a drum band in his chest as Ron uncorked the vial.

"Last chance, Enforcer." He pressed his lips together as he looked at May, who still had a hurt expression on her face.

"Do it. I want to be honest with all of you." Then, he opened his mouth. Surprised, Ron leaned the bottle over his mouth and poured three drops down his throat. Maverick gagged.

"This sucks ass!" Ron chuckled, clearly amused at the boy's discomfort.

"Okay, then. You were an Enforcer for the Pure Order." It wasn't a question, but more of a statement. Still, the answer left Maverick's lips before he even realized he'd said it.

"Yes." May let out a shocked gasp, finally hearing the truth from Maverick himself.

"What's your real name? Did you go to Hogwarts?" Maverick swallowed, clenching his fists in rage as tears formed in his eyes.

"I-I can't remember my real name. SN-2187 is the only name they ever gave me." it just poured out of him. He couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth.

"Like the rest of them, I was taken from a family, a home I can't remember, one that they erased from my memory."

"I can't remember my childhood. Or my parents. Sometimes, I would wake up and remember someone singing to me. Or flying on a little broom. But, I can't remember where, or when, or who. They took all that from me. I was bred and forced to do one thing. Trained to do one thing. To kill the Order's enemies." He felt something that should not have been there, that was not part of his training, well up in him. "But my first battle, I made a choice. I wasn't going to kill for them. So I ran. I quit. I freed Katharine Wood, a real Resistance hero, and together, we escaped from the Pure Order on one of their Nimbus 4000s. But we got shot down, and she didn't make it." Then, Maverick turned to look right towards May.

"As it happens, I ran right into you. And you asked me if I was in the Resistance, and looked at me like no one ever had. So I said the first thing that came to mind that I thought would please you. I'm ashamed of what I was. But I'm done with the Pure Order. I'm never going back. That's why I picked Maverick as my new name. She, Katharine, gave me that name, because I broke away from those monsters, and so became a maverick." Silence fell over the campsite, with the only sound coming from the crackling campfire.

"So. You've never killed anyone besides the Enforcers that were chasing you earlier?"

"Yes. That I remember." Ron nodded

"You're not a Pure Order spy. You in no way are working for the Pure Order, or working towards the destruction of the Resistance."

"YES! I'm not a spy! I just want out! I don't want to fight anymore" Ron nodded, stroking the light fuzz on his face.

"Alright then… Maverick. " Then, before he could say anything else, he was interrupted by a distant but distinct metallic clang. Snapping back to the present, Ron was all business again as he scowled.

"Oh bloody hell. Don't tell me a snorack's gotten loose." Without another word he vacated the campsite, sprinting towards a swatch of trees. Everyone else followed, with Eighty perched on Hagrid's large shoulder.

"Hold up now. I need to be sure what you said. A _what_ _'s_ gotten loose?"

"Snorack," Ron replied curtly.

"No." Maverick was shaking his head. "You are _not_ hauling snoracks."

Ron spoke without breaking stride. "We're hauling snoracks. Three, to be precise."

"Three!" Maverick could hardly believe what he was hearing. "How'd you get them in cages?"

Han looked over at him. "Let's just say we used to have a bigger crew."

"What's a snorack?" May asked.

"A veeeerry nasty animal. Extremely illegal. Extremely nasty. All fangs and razors and claws." Hugo chimed in. Ron reached the trees and gestured his wand. Suddenly, the image faded, and instead was replaced with the sight of three large cages, covered in cloth. Now, some very unpleasant noises could be heard from inside them.

"Discovered by oer old friend Luna Lovegood. The one she met nearly took er ead off." Hagrid chimed in.

"O-kaaay," she responded. "Why would anyone want something big, dangerous, and ugly? _Who_ would want something big, dangerous, and ugly? And be willing to pay for it?"

"Ever hear of the Yellowstone Massacre?" Maverick added.

She shook her head. "No."

" _Good,"_ he replied. And that was the extent of his explanation, briefly referencing an incident sovile and depraved that he wished only to assure himself she knew nothing about it.

"So," she continued, turning her attention back to Ron, who at least seemed willing to explicate a little, "you're carrying these snoracks to a collector?"

He nodded. "Kinda. I got three going to King Gonok of the East Giant tribe." Maverick gaped.

"You're kidding. A giant? Seriously? A bloody giant?" Ron nodded.

"Yep. Giants love to compete with each other. Prove who's the best. Plus for fun. Snoracks are some of the deadliest magical creatures on Earth. So… he wants to fight them for sport. I think." Maverick was white.

"He wants… to fight the snoracks?" Ron shrugged.

"They're giants. They think with their fists and feet."

"The snoracks." Maverick couldn't keep from asking. "Where are you keeping them?" A thunderous _wham_ sounded behind him and he jumped, stumbling back towards May. He looked around in confusion.

"Where?" Ron smiled as he reached out and tapped one of the tree trunks, causing a metal clang to echo through the air. He flicked the wand, causing the trees to fade away to reveal several large metal cubes. Then, Maverick let out a shocked scream and stumbled further back when an red orb appeared in the middle cage, staring right at him. He assumed it was just an eye of some kind, but it was still big, dangerous, and ugly. Maverick's heart slammed against his chest.

"Well, there's one," Ron said nonchalantly. "Or part of one, anyway." For a second time something massive rammed against the cage, and the ground shuddered under their feet. "Not real bright, snoracks. You'd think by this time they'd have figured out they can't break out of their holding compartments, but they've been banging away at the walls ever since we caught them. These cages are custom, coated in a special potion that makes the walls resistant. Had to call in a few favors. Though, these buggers don't seem to get tired." Ron frowned as he shook his head.

"Huh. They're all still here, then what…"

"WEASLEY!" A livid voice erupted nearby, causing the small group turn to see a group of six figures, five members of a masked, red-cloaked security team and one man in a black suit.

"Behin me." Hagrid ordered, sweeping May and Maverick behind him with one of his large hands, keeping them obstructed from the view of the death gang.

"Crap…" Ron cursed.

"Friends of yours?" May whispered from behind Hagrid.

"You could say that," Ron replied. "It's the Davron Death Gang. They must've tracked us from Belgium." The man in the suit stepped forward, a confident smirk on his face. Ron let a smile flash across his face.

""Ronald… Weasley," came the clipped voice of the gang leader, "you are a dead man." Ron snarled. He really hated it when people used his full name. That, he felt, was something only his mother, sister, and ex-wife had the right to call him. Not a very promising beginning, Ron had to admit. Not that he had expected anything else. The gang leader wasn't one to waste time on false pleasantries. Smiling broadly, he nodded back.

"Leave it to me. I can talk my way out of this." Ron whispered confidently. Hugo raised an eyebrow as he looked at his father.

"Eally, Ron?" Hagrid asked as he hefted his crossbow.

"Yes I do, every time!" Then, he turned back towards the gang.

"Darron Blake! Always good to see an old business associate. What's the problem?" His visitor was not amused. "The problem is we loaned you five thousand galleons for this job."

Ron smiled. "Sure, right. Fifty thousand. A modest investment on which you're going to make a big, fat profit. Triple that! Don't all my business enterprises pay off?"

"No," the gang leader replied curtly.

Ron spread his hands wide. "Sure they do! I've never lost money on a single venture."

"Yes, you have." Darron was relentless.

"Hey, everybody who does business with me gets their money back even if I lose."

"No, they don't." Relentless _and_ cold. Cold as only the head of a Death Gang can be.

Ron responded with an exaggerated shake of his head and looked back at his companions. "Can you believe this, Hagrid? Out of the goodness of my heart and respect for everything this person represents, _I_ bring to _him_ the investment of the year, and all he can do is mock me!" He returned his attention to the silent gangster. "I expect thanks and all I get are insults. I didn't have to come to you, you know. I could have done all this myself and kept the mountain of gold! I could have gone to anyone with this deal and they would have jumped at the chance to get in on it. But no: I offered it to _you_. And this is my thanks?" His tone turned challenging. "What is it, Darron? Don't you want your cut of the proceeds?"

"I want my fifty thousand back," the gang leader snapped. Hugo scoffed.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine! If that's the way you want it."

"Gringotts also wants their fifty thousand back."

Ron gaped at him. "What?"

"The goblins," Darron repeated calmly. "You also borrowed fifty thousand from them."

Ron strove to remain calm, though he could not prevent a bit of the color draining from his face. "That's a lie! The goblins and I have a bad history, they'd never lend me a Knut! Everybody knows that! Who told you that bullshit?""

"The goblins did," Darron replied without twitching so much as an eyelash.

Ron turned a disbelieving circle, his voice filled with outrage. "Oh, come on! You can't trust those little freaks! I remember what happened with Bagman! I'd never be that stupid!"

"Yes, you would." Hugo muttered. Ron gave his son a scathing glance. May and Maverick traded looks.

"I am very scared right now. I'm sorry I lied to you, I was a coward." Maverick cursed as soon as the words left his mouth. The veritiserum was still affecting him. May's eyebrows rose in amusement.

"Very emotional, Mr. Maverick. But look, I know goblins. If he was stupid enough to borrow fifty thousand from them, this is gonna get really ugly, really fast." She whispered.

"We can probably fight our way out. It's five against all them." May pondered that.

"Maybe we don't have to." Ignoring Maverick's questioning look.

The gang leader was not about to be inveigled by smooth chatter. Especially not when large loaned sums were involved. "The question is how much longer _will_ we know each other? Not long, I think. Unless we get our money back. And we want it back _now_."

"The snoracks are here, right behind me," Ron shot back. "I know it's taken a little longer than I promised—"

"Way longer," Blake cut in. "Too much longer."

"—but I've got 'em, and King Gonok is just waiting—no, he's _eager_ —to pay. Just be a little patient. You'll get your money back, plus the promised profit. A mountain of gold and jewels!"

Blake rolled his eyes "Says you. That's what you said when you borrowed the money. Never trust a Weasley!"

"We were busy," an exasperated Ron informed him, "collecting snoracks." Blake snorted

"So you say. In the absence of any communication, we didn't know what you were doing. With our money. We suspected the worst. Though you and your boy might have gone spending it on women. Quite the notorious womanizer, your boy." Hugo snarled.

"Fuck you!" Darren and his men let out a roar of laughter.

"That's exactly what you've done to half the women in bloody England! Your mommy must be so proud." Hugo let out a snarl as he reached for his wand, mirrored by Darron and his men, but was stopped by Hagrid, who shook his head.

"Don be a fool, boy." Hagrid shook his head.

Ron smiled afresh. "And now you know the truth. You're here, I'm here, and the snoracks for King Gonok are here. You think it's cheap hunting snoracks? I spent that money. I _used_ that money. Just let me make delivery and you'll have your investment back. Come with me if you want. That is, if you want to hike into the mountains and meet with the giants. You guys speak Giant?"

The gang leader's gaze narrowed. "Do you think we're idiots? Come with you into a giant village? So that you can have your half-giant freak tell his brother giants to kill us and dump our remains in some cave, then collect all the money from Gonok, and disappear again? I think not. I don't trust you anymore, Weasley." He indicated his men. " _We_ don't trust you. So give us our money back. Gringotts wants their investment back, too."

Ron's reply was replete with frustration. "I told you: I never made a deal with Gringotts or those bloody goblins!"

Darron gave an indifferent shrug. "Tell that to the goblins." He nodded. Just then, several loud cracks echoed, and a second group emerged, standing next to the first gang. All goblins. May let out a snarl.

"Fucking goblins. I hate goblins so damn much. I want to punch their stupid wrinkled faces." May grumbled.

Their leader, a long-haired, grim-faced, and thoroughly notorious individual, came forward. For the second time in all too short a while, Han greeted an unwelcome visitor with a smile as wide as it was bogus.

"Nagrok! Good to see you! How's my favorite banker?" The goblin gave him a wide, nasty smile, making Ron shudder.

"Wrong again, Weasley. It's over for you. You've insulted the dignity of the goblins for the last time." Ron snorted.

"Guys! You're all gonna get what I promised. The merchandise is here, the buyer is waiting. I just need to make the delivery. Have I ever not delivered for you before?"

"Yes." Darron answered.

"Twice." Nagrok added. Ron frowned as he glanced at Hugo and Hagrid, who both nodded.

"What was the first time?" Ron protested.

"When you broke into our bank." Ron let out a loud sarcastic laugh.

"Seriously? You guys are still pissed off about that? It's been thirty years, can't you guys ever forgive and forget?"

"No." Nagrok answered flatly.

"Your game is old," Darron called out. "You've played it too many times. Your excuses wore thin many years ago. So many times, so many excuses. Everyone knows them now. I can recite in my head the excuses you are going to make before you yourself can speak them. You are tired, Ron Weasley. Tired and old, just like your game. There is no one in England, no, the entire planet left for you to swindle." Darron paused, chuckling as he shook his head.

"The great war hero, Ron Weasley! What a joke. What a sad, pathetic excuse of a wizard. No wonder your wife and daughter want nothing to do with you!" he roared with laughter, causing Ron to snarl.

"Nowhere left for you to hide," added Nagrok, not to be outdone. "Usually a senile old fool knows when to retire. But sometimes he simply needs to be… forcibly retired."

"Wait!" Something had caught Darron's attention. Taking a couple of steps forward, he peered up at Hagrid. Or, more specifically, Eighty. The owl sitting on Hagrid's shoulder let out a nervous hoot and moved slightly to its right, trying to blend into the half-giant's large coat.

"That owl you've got there—word is that the Pure Order is looking for one just like it… and two fugitives." An air of silence fell over the campsite. Hugo swallowed nervously as May and Maverick traded nervous looks.

Ron was remarkably indifferent. "First I've heard of it."

"This is going to get ugly fast. Get ready to run." May whispered as she pulled her wand out. Maverick boggled at her.

"What are you doing?" she winked at him.

"Saving our skins." She pointed it at the cages, causing his eyes to widen. He grabbed her wrist.

"Are you _insane_?" she smirked.

"A little."

"Kill them! And take the owl!" Darron roared as he drew his wand. Weapons came up on all sides. Ron gritted his teeth as he looked between the goblins and the death gang. They were outnumbered pretty badly.

"RELASIO!" May's voice erupted from behind Hagrid, startling everyone into stunned silence. That silence was quickly cut by a new sound: the groan of the cages doors turning open.

"Blimy. That's not good." Ron cursed. Then, an ear-splitting roar erupted from the cages as something monstrous appeared behind Ron and Hagrid.

"MOVE!" Hagrid roared as he scooped up May, Maverick, and Hugo and dove into the brush, keeping his back to the snoracks. Tentacles whipped out to snatch up two of the gang, who screamed as their torsos were crushed and dragged into the gaping maw of teeth. Whirling, howling, those who were still able to do so unleashed wild bursts of magic in the direction of their attackers. Those that struck the snoracks barely caused them to flinch, mainly bouncing off their flesh. Wisely, Darron, Nagrok and the survivors scattered.

"Now you know what snoracks look like!" Maverick yelled at May, who watched in horror at the sight the of surviving gang members doing battle with the monsters. They were enormous and round, covered in bright red orbs, and composed mostly of tentacles and teeth. Raising one hand to her mouth, she caught her breath, simultaneously mesmerized and horrified by the sight.

"RUN!" Hugo roared as he took off into the trees. Without waiting for a response, Maverick reached over and took May's arm, not caring this time if she objected.

May and Maverick took off after him, racing as the trees blurred around them. Rogue spells shot over their heads, blasting the nearby trees into splinters.

"That was a mistake!" Maverick howled as she ducked beneath a branch.

" _Huge!"_ May agreed.

Nearby, Ron nearly ran into one of the gangsters. Fleeing from the snorack behind him while shooting spells at the monster, he never saw Ron—though he did make the acquaintance of Ron's fist. Ron then gripped the front of his shirt and hurled him right at the snorack. One tentacle caught the unlucky gang member before he could hit the ground. Ron turned and sprinted, leaving the snorack behind, ignoring the sound of sickening crunches and sloshing noises.

"Blasted girl! I'm gonna wring her neck!" he cursed.

"WEASLEY!" Ron whirled to see Darron and another gang member pointing their wands at him, their faces white with fury.

"Darron, can't we let grudges die?" Darron spat on the ground in response.

"Okay then." Ron shrugged. Darron sneered, a devilish expression across his handsome features.

"Forget the owl! I wonder how much the Pure Order will pay us for your heads. The legendary Ron Weasley; his whelp, son of General Granger, and the great Hagrid. A king's ransom, I'd wager!" Then, he let out a scream as a massive shape barreled into them.

"C'MERE!" Hagrid roared as he grabbed Darron and his associate and lifted them into the air. Darron roared with rage as he flailed, desperately trying to free himself.

"SLIMY MURDERIN TRASH!" Then, Hagrid smashed the two wizards together in a massive crunch of bone, before dropping them to the ground like rag dolls, where they laid unconscious.

"Thanks for the save, Hagrid." He nodded.

"Now, let's find those kids and get the hell out of here, before we become snorack chow."

Elsewhere, May, Hugo and Maverick continued to run. Another spell shot over their heads, showing them in splinters.

"I'm so sick of people trying to murder us!" Maverick screamed as he jumped over a log.

"You tend to get used to it, comes with the territory! STUPIFY!" A red spell shot from Hugo's wand, rocketing into the trees, getting an angry yell in response.

"See, it's all about the ai-ARRRRGGHHHHH!" Hugo screamed as a yellow light smashed into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. May and Maverick screeched to a stop as Nagrok and two of his goons emerged from the brush in front of them.

"Why aren't you snorack stew?" Hugo moaned as he clutched his shoulder. The goblin sneered as he raised a sinister looking knife.

"I'm gonna enjoy this, boy." May pressed her lips together, but smiled as an idea came to her.

"Hey goblins! Ragnuk the First was a crappy crafter! His work was shit!" she yelled, and was pleased to see the looks of absolute rage flash across their faces.

"I'll cut your tongue out for those insults, girl!" Nagrok snarled as he and his men raised their weapons, Then, his expression turned to horror when red lights smashed into his bodyguards, causing them to crumple. May whirled to see Maverick and Hugo, their wands raised. Well, in Hugo's case, limply raised with his left hand. Then, as Nagrok backed up, his eyes wide in fear, she kicked him across the face. He grunted as he fell to the ground yet again, but she wasn't done yet. She started whaling on his face.

"That's for cursing Hugo! This is for trying to kill us! This is for being a greedy dick! And this is for being a stupid goblin!" Nagrok let out a gurgle as he slumped in May's hands. She rolled her eyes in disgust before dropping him like a rag doll.

"Asshole." She then raced over to Hugo, who was currently being tended to by Maverick. He let out a loud moan as Maverick

"You okay?" Hugo groaned in response.

"I'll take that as a no." Maverick shook his head.

"Is this nightmare of a day ever gonna end?" As if the universe itself was answering him, an inhuman roar erupted as a snorack burst through the trees. In less than a second, Maverick let out a gut-wrenching scream as he was pulled off his feet, a snorack tentacle wrapped around his waist. The snorack rushed off with the screaming man in its grasp.

" _MAVERICK!"_

Though it was too big for her and too fast, May gave chase anyway, leaving behind a stunned Hugo.

"Fuck everything." he groaned as he clutched his shoulder.

Fighting in a desperate attempt to break free, Maverick realized he might as well have been wrestling with a steel cable. Neither pounding on it with his fists nor kicking at it with his drawn-up legs produced the slightest reaction on the creature's part. Even if he had his wand, it wouldn't have been any help. He was so desperate that he even resorted to trying to take a bite out of it. The hard, rubbery flesh proved impenetrable. Without meaning to, he let out a loud wail. He didn't want to die like this!

" _Maverick!"_ May screamed as she ran through the brush, ignoring the scraping across her hair and face.

Not only had May lost sight of him, but now the snorack had moved so far ahead she could no longer hear his shouts for help. It was a futile exercise anyway. Suppose she did catch up? The snorack had more than enough appendages with which to sweep her into its grasp without letting go of Maverick. Still, she kept running, keeping an eye out for anything that could be of use. Starting to get desperate, she made a gamble. She apparated, appearing over the trees and landing on a top branch. She perched on the top branch, waiting and hoping. Then, almost bycue, Maverick's screams reached her ears. Slowly, she pulled out a knife, one of the goblin weapons she had stolen from Nagrok.

Slowing, the snorack emerged, passing beneath her, dragging the increasingly weakened Maverick behind it. Then, just as the monster passed beneath her, she dropped down from the trees, slicing through the tentacle holding Maverick. The monster reacted almost immediately— the shriek of pain and fury from the snorack was horrible to hear. She paid it hardly any attention as she leaped onto Maverick and apparated away, reappearing next to Hugo, who stared at them with a look of surprise and awe.

"You survived? I thought he was dead for sure." May rolled her eyes as she watched a dazed Maverick struggle to his feet and commence fighting to extricate himself from the still-clinging piece of amputated tentacle. Stunned by his unexpected escape, he was stunned as he looked at her. "It didn't get you," he said unnecessarily. "It had me!" He turned around. "But you came down at just the right moment…" May nodded as she held up the green blood-stained knife.

"Goblin metal. Very sharp, durable, and resistant." A loud crack erupted nearby, followed by shouting.

"That sounds like dad and Hagrid."

"Grab his shoulder. We're gonna have to support him." Hugo let out another howl of pain as May and Maverick grabbed him and pulled them to his feet, carrying him between them.

Nearby, Darron had finally regained consciousness and was being tended to one of his gang's surviving members. "Those blasted things have taken two of my men." As he said it, a bloodcurdling scream erupted nearby, followed by silence. "Three of my men," the gangster corrected himself. He cursed in frustration. He was well aware of the stories of Ron Weasley, the things he had done with Harry Potter. Frankly, he had always thought that Ron's part was small. That it had been Harry Potter and Hermione Granger that had done all the work. Yet... it seems there was more to Ron Weasley than his luck and mouth. Capturing even one snorack was considered a near-impossibility, even with a full squad of aurors. Impounding _three_ and living to tell the tale stretched all bounds of believability. Still, that didn't forgive the insult Ron had dealt to both his pride and reputation. The men that he had lost. One way or another, Ron Weasley would pay.

In another part of the forest, Ron scrambled through a ticket, trailing Hagrid. Eighty hooted at him, perched on the recovered motorcycle, which Hagrid carried on his back like a backpack.

"Why do these things keep happening to me, Hagrid? This close to a fortune, gone like water down the drain!" Hagrid looked back at Ron with an annoyed expression.

"What did yeh think was gonna happen when yeh made deals with gangsters and goblins, Ron?" He sputtered, clearly flustered.

"Well, not like I was gonna get the money from Hermione or Ginny." His expression soured, realizing that he probably went too far with that statement. But, he then froze at the sound of a loud crash in front of him, quickly drawing his wand at the same instant as Hagrid pulled out his crossbow.

"Wait! It's us!" To his surprise, May and Maverick emerged. More alarming, however, was the sight of his son, moaning between them.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Ron demanded as he raced to his wounded son.

"A goblin got the drop on me, dad. It's embarrassing and stupid. I was stupid…" Ron whirled on May, incredulous.

"What the hell were you thinking, girl? You know how much I had to go through to get those snoracks? You just cost me a bloody fortune and nearly got us all killed!" May looked shocked for a moment, but quickly turned red, incredulous with rage.

"Excuse me? EXCUSE ME?! ME? ME?! YOU'RE THE MORON WHO MADE A BLOODY DEAL WITH GOBLINS, _GOBLINS_ , HAULING A PACK OF DEADLY MONSTERS NONE THE LESS! PLUS, I JUST SAVED YOUR SON'S BLOODY LIFE! SO DO ME A FAVOR, AND SHUT! THE! FUCK! UP!" a stunned silence followed as everyone stared at May, clearly shocked by her outburst and just how terrifying she sounded while giving it.

"Damn. Ever met my grandmum? Or my mom?" Hugo finally asked. Before May could answer, another roar cascaded over the trees, making them freeze.

"We need to get the hell out of here." Maverick demanded. Slowly, Ron nodded in resignation.

"Come on." He held out his arm. Understanding, the others grabbed his arm, and in Hagrid's case, toughing his shoulder. Then, the group vanished with a loud crack.

Nagrok let out a groan as he sat up, his entire face throbbing in pain. But, he wasn't quite focused on that. He was too filled with rage to notice it. This only intensified as he checked for his knife, only to realize that the girl had stolen it. He hissed with rage. That knife was sacred. It had been in his family for centuries, forged by one of his most legendary ancestors. And now it was in the hands of a witch? Another note he took into account were her words, which also enraged him. Mocking such revered names like they were jokes? NO! This would not stand! To make things even worse, he had failed with Ron Weasley. Failed to avenge a long-standing insult to Gringotts. That was the only reason that they had even agreed to lend him the money to begin with. They had never cared if he had returned the money in full, though that definitely would have been a bonus. They had just wanted an excuse. The theft in Gringotts during the War had been a scar that had never faded, a humiliation they had been forced to endure from their peers ever since. Yet, the goblins had never been allowed to extract their vengeance. The Ministry had pardoned Weasley and his companions for the act, and any attempt at revenge would have been politically disastrous. Furthermore, between Potter having vanished and Granger the head of the Resistance, they both remained out of their reach. But Weasley? The fool had created the perfect opportunity when he had requested the loan. They had been so determined to exact their vengeance, they had even stooped to working with low-life gangsters. Yet, all that effort seemingly for naught. But, this goblin was both a determined and wry one, and his mind already raced to salvage this mess.

Still, if he couldn't collect both the goblins' vengeance and what Weasley owed him, there remained the possibility of a reward for information. He hobbled to his companions, who were also regaining consciousness, and pulled them to their feet, his teeth gnashed together.

"Get up, you fools, and get me back to Gringotts! Inform the Pure Order that Ronald Weasley has the owl and the fugitives that they want. And place a bounty on that girl! I want all their heads!"


	11. Master and Apprentice

The forests of Albania held many secrets. For thirteen years, they had been the home of Lord Voldemort after he fell for the first time, living as little more than a petty scavenger. A millennia prior, it had been the place where Helena Ravenclaw had died, a victim of petty jealously and rage. The forest had also served as the custodian of the revered Diadem of Ravenclaw for centuries, until Voldemort had taken it and turned it into one of his horcruxes, long since destroyed. Given its vast history, it had seemed to be the perfect place for the Pure Order to establish a base, build their numbers and construct their greatest weapon, far from the prying eyes of any magical governments.

Currently, a blanket of snow covered the forest, creating a stark contrast to the fleet of armored blimps that floated above the white world. Spectacular and isolated, the forest had been altered significantly since the Order's arrival: the ground tunneled into, creating a vast network of tunnels and chambers, with miles upon miles of power cables planted into the ground, all engineered for a single purpose. To fuel the most powerful magical weapon ever created in Wizarding history, one that made the Elder Wand look like a toy wand. From overhead, at first look, it looked like a massive meteor crater, a hole that dropped into a black void. But, it was far more than that.

Those who had remade it had dubbed it: Pheonix Base. Rather ironic, given that Albus Dumbledore, the legendary hero who had stood as a symbol against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, had owned a phoenix.

As additional measures of security, this particular region had been rendered unplottable, as well as Fidelius Charm that had been cast over the entire region, with only members of the Pure Order serving as Secret-Keepers. No outside contacts were allowed to attend. With extreme loyalty from the Enforcers, there was no chance of any magical government learning the location.

Hollowed out of one snow-covered mountain was a central control facility, which served as the main garrison for Pheonix Base. Visually, it was an impressive sight: the main entrance was draped in Pure Order banners on opposite sides, draped in black, with an orange phoenix with its wings spread and clutching a trident in the center of the banner. This base was essentially the heart of the Pure Order. Where the Collectors brought new acquisitions, where Enforcers trained to become the best. Technicians and workers bustled throughout the complex, hard at work to ensure final preparations went smoothly.

However, entire workstations fell silent at the sight of Lord Caldrin and General Parkinson as they passed, focused on reaching their destination. The tension between the two was so high that anyone could see it. Neither man spoke to the other, the only sound coming from the echo of their footsteps.

" _Hem, hem!_ _"_ Both men stopped at the sight of the woman standing in front of them.

"High Inquisitor." General Parkinson stated calmly.

Dressed in a slim fitting black uniform, Dolores Umbridge had barely changed since the end of the Second Wizarding War. In personality at least. She was still quite repulsive to look at, resembling a large pale toad. Her mousy brown hair had long since greyed, which starkly contrasted against the pink bow in her hair. That was just one of the many effects left on her after her stay in Azkaban, where she had been sentenced after the fall of Voldemort for her crimes. As far as the Wizarding World was concerned, she had died there fifteen years ago, and lay buried at sea. In truth, however, she had been freed by the Pure Order, faking her death with an imperiused decoy, who had been forced to take Polyjuice potion until he died soon after, ironically copying the same idea used decades prior to free Barty Crouch Jr from Azkaban. In order to avoid detection, several guards had been bribed to cremate the body before it could be inspected. Not that anyone had claimed it, of course.

But the most disturbing part of her, by far, was her smile, which looked like one a predator would have right before consuming its prey. That was one of the very few things both Caldrin and Parksinson would agree on, though neither would say it to the other.

"He is waiting for you." She pivoted and walked down a narrow hallway, smiling the whole way, her hands folded in front of her. Parkinson and Lord Caldrin followed, until they reached a large door, protected by two Elite Enforcers, clad in a specialized white-coated metal armor, as well as bearing several weapons strapped to their waists. In perfect synchronization, they stepped aside, allowing the door to swing open. The room inside was… grand, to say the least, reaching up at least a story. A large throne sat in the center of the room, flanked by two more Pure Order banners. More of the white-clad guards stood around the room, silent and unmoving. The entire east side of the wall was a massive window that served as an observation deck, overlooking the entire base. At the center of this window was where he stood, silent, as he observed the base and the small figures of the workers and patrols below. Supreme Leader Salazar. Leader of the Pure Order and it's armies.

"Thank you, High Inquisitor. You may go." Umbridge gave a small bow and left, leaving Parkinson and Caldrin alone with Supreme Leader Salazar. From the back, they could only see the back of his head and robe, but it was still intimidating. Standing in shadow, the tall, slender man seemingly loomed over the other two men, despite only being taller than them by a few inches.

"My disappointment in you both cannot be overstated." His voice cut into them worse than blades. Parkinson flinched.

"The owl will soon be in the hands of the Resistance," Salazar declaimed, his voice deep, soothing, and very much that of someone in complete control, "giving the enemy the means to locate Harry Potter and bring to their cause a most powerful ally."

Caldrin stood impassive, neither commenting nor visibly betraying his thoughts.

Parkinson dipped his head by way of apology and took a step toward the dais. "Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility for th—" He suddenly choked off, gasping as he clutched at his throat. Salazar turned, bringing his face into full view. What surprised many about Supreme Leader Salazar was that he was actually quite… normal in appearance. He looked like a man in his early 60s, although no one knew his true age. His face had a certain ruggedness to it, and surprisingly no scars, wounds or deformities His hair was short and in spikes, thoroughly grey. His eyes were bright blue, and seemed to be able to pierce into anyone they fell upon, thoroughly analyzing them. Those same eyes looked into Parkinson, an expression of annoyance on his face as he twirled his wand between his fingers. Parkinson gestured desperately.

"S-S-Su-" Salazar sighed as he flicked his wand, causing Parkinson to let out a loud gasp as he fell to his knees, taking in deep breaths. He rolled his eyes. "Your apologies are not a strategy, General. We are _here_ _now_. It is what happens next that matters. Consider yourself fortunate that I am not Voldemort. _He_ would not have been so forgiving." Parkinson grunted as he climbed to his feet.

Aware that he had just been spared an unknown but certainly unpleasant fate, the officer spoke up immediately. "I do have a proposition, Supreme Leader. The weapon. We have it. It is ready. I believe the time has come to use it." Salazar looked intrigued.

"Against?"

"The Ministry of Magic. Their center of government. We will shatter the Vow of Secrecy and at long last reveal ourselves." Salazar nodded.

"Go on…" Parkinson, looking uplifted, continued.

"Our spies have reported that The International Confederation of Wizards will be converging in London in two days, to debate the current standing of the British wizarding community. The president of MACUSA himself will be there, a symbol of goodwill. With one strike, we can destroy both the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation, and decapitate the entire system. In the chaos that will follow such a cataclysmic event, the Resistance will have no choice but to investigate an attack of such devastating scale. General Granger will not ignore it, she's too noble that way. That bravado Gryffindor spirit. They will throw all their resources into trying to discover its source. So they have no choice but to investigate fully, and in so doing…"

"Reveal themselves." Salazar was clearly pleased.

"And if they don't…we've destroyed them. It would make sense, after all. Granger doesn't seem the type to work far from her comfort zone. Furthermore, much of the Resistance hierarchy consists of British wizards, thus it's highly likely that many of their loved ones will die in the aftermath. Even if the Resistance isn't destroyed, we can destroy their spirit and their will to fight. When the rest of the wizarding world sees our true power, they will submit. And then, nothing will stand between us and the muggles."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Salazar said in satisfaction. "Extreme. Ambitious. I agree that the time for such measures has come, the time of subtlety is long since past. Go, General. Oversee the necessary preparations."

"Yes, Supreme Leader." Bowing stiffly, Parkinson turned and exited the chamber. He took long strides, walking briskly, clearly pleased with himself.

Caldrin and Salazar silently watched the general go.

"I see why the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin. Truly ambitious, that one. Cunning and calculating. Takes after his mother." Salazar paused as he looked at Caldrin.

"I've waited so long for this. Thirty years… thirty years of building, planning, secrecy, manipulation, bribing, scuttling like rats. But of course, I had long dreamed of the Order before then. Restoring order to the Wizarding world, through both magical and technological superiority. I had hoped to start laying the foundations far earlier. However, the Dark Lord and I had… differing opinions, in simple words. Dark wizards were far more inclined to follow his ideals than mine. But, when Voldemort fell that night, it also created opportunity. With the dark lord gone, his men fled, shattered and divided, utterly broken. I brought what was left together. And thus, my dreams at long-last became reality."

When next Salazar spoke there was an intimacy in his voice, a familiarity that stood in sharp contrast to the commanding tone he had used with Parkinson.

"I have never had a student with such promise—before you."

Caldrin straightened. "It is your teachings that make me strong, Supreme Leader. More powerful than everyone else."

Salazar demurred. "It is far more than that. It is where you are from. What you are made of. The finest sculptor cannot fashion a masterpiece from poor materials. He must have something pure, something strong, something unbreakable, with which to work. I have—you. My greatest triumph." He paused, reminiscing.

"Lord Caldrin, I have personally seen two Dark Lords rise and fall: Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort. The grand plans. The attacks and terror they wrought. The gullible prattle on about the triumph of pureblood over muggle blood, of individualism and free will. As if such things were solid and real instead of simple subjective judgments. The historians have it all wrong. Do you know what the true reasons were for their downfalls?"

Caldrin nodded once. "Sentiment. And arrogance."

"Yes. Such foolish mistakes. At least Grindelwald's were minor. Ultimately, his fall came from being overpowered in a duel with a skilled equal. Voldemort's were staggering, to say the least. His decisions regarding his horcruxes were one of the most idiotic I've ever seen. Choosing such recognizable historic objects and placing them in locations connected to his past… had he not been so arrogant and simply chosen commonplace objects and hidden them in unreachable locations, the war would have ended very differently. And then, there was his obsession with the Elder Wand. Too addicted to the lure of its power. Fool should have kept using his original wand the moment he learned that Potter's wand had been destroyed. Then there was his underestimation of other magical creatures, such as house elves. He failed to understand their magic. Yet, his biggest mistake, by far, was his failure to understand love, as well as its effect on others. Nowhere was this more apparent than with Severus Snape. Had Lord Voldemort realized the effect Lily Evans had on Severus Snape… mistake upon mistake upon mistake… " He paused as he looked at his apprentice. Caldrin nodded. He had heard all this before.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you?" He nodded.

"No one thing led to the Dark Lord's fall. It was an accumulation of mistakes. All of which we've learned from. Do not underestimate our enemies, under any circumstances." Salazar nodded, clearly pleased. Caldrin assured him confidently. "By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced. My resolve will not falter." Salazar nodded.

"There has been an awakening. Have you noticed it?"

Caldrin nodded. "Yes."

"The pieces are coming together on the board, Lord Caldrin. Soon, the game will begin. That is what war is, a game. Each move must be calculated, precise. One wrong move, if you hesitate or falter…"

"There is no need for concern." Despite the Supreme Leader's cautioning, Caldrin's assurance remained unbounded. "Together we will destroy the Resistance—and the last Potter."

"Perhaps," Salazar conceded. Then, he turned, looking straight into Caldrin's mask.

"There's something more. One of our agents came through, at long last. The owl has resurfaced." Caldrin perked up. Now, was his chance to redeem himself.

" _Where?"_ Salazar smiled.

"Apparently, the owl is in the hands of your uncle… Ronald Weasley." Caldrin froze, shock and surprise taking him over for the briefest of moments before he regained himself.

"He means nothing to me." Salazar cocked his head by the smallest of margins, regarding Caldrin with a curious expression.

"Furthermore, it seems he is in the company of his son, Hugo Weasley, as well as the half-giant known as Hagrid." Knowing full well that Salazar was testing him, Caldrin remained firm.

"Irrelevent. They mean nothing to me." Salazar looked at him with intrigue.

"Even you, master of the Knights of Slytherin, have never faced such a test. Your first trial was a bit of a… fluke to say the least." Caldrin remained firm.

"I will not fail you. My allegiance is with you. No one will stand in our way."

Salazar nodded, looking back out at Phoenix Base. "We shall see. We shall see…"


	12. Hermione's Desperation

Hermione Granger didn't think her day could have gotten any worse. Unfortunately, she was proven wrong.

Lieutenant Bones had been on messaging duty that day. Essentially, what that consisted of was sitting in the base's makeshift owlry, one of the few structures aboveground, and keeping track of the dozens of owls coming to and fro, bearing notes and information from their sources abroad. The general had insisted it stay that way instead of updating to muggle communication devices, as the Pure Order could track such transmissions. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant jobs, considering the smell. Emily was snapped out of her thoughts by the screech of a new arrival. What caught her attention was that the letter had a blue seal on it: high-priority, meant for General Granger.

Pulling it from the owl, she unwrapped the letter and scanned the message. Her eyes widened. Racing out of the station, she took off on foot, down one tunnel, into another corridor, ignoring everyone else as she searched for the message's recipient. The passages through which he ran were crammed with all manner of equipment: Sometimes carefully installed, other times slapped together in haste, it was nonetheless all functional. Fortunately, she knew where to find the general. She raced down an adjacent hallway, stopping at a familiar door: General Granger's private office. She didn't even stop to knock, instead barreling right in. Sure enough, Hermione was sitting at her desk

He found the general where he expected her to be, conversing quietly with Captain Teddy Lupin and a house elf.

Hermione Granger wore a dark robe over a simple blue jumpsuit that was devoid of any indication of rank. Her hair was sleek, but still had traces of the bushiness from her youth. Her brown eyes were soft, but had a certain steeliness to them. Despite her lack of uniform, no one would mistake this woman for anything but what she was: a Gryffindor and a natural leader.

All three looked up at her arrival, clearly surprised at the intrusion.

"General. I'm sorry for the interruption, but this just arrived." She handed Hermione the letter.

She knew that if the general wished to keep the information restricted, she would have said so the instant he had handed it over and would have already dismissed Lupin. It didn't take long for Hermione to read it, judging by the expression on her face.

After giving her a moment to scan the content, Emily said, "General, as you can see from the details, our scouts found that the village in Egypt was wiped out. It's confirmed, it was the Pure Order." she glanced at Lupin. "Filius Flitwick was killed." A burst of foul language erupted from an enraged Lupin, slamming his fist into Hermione's desk. Hermione didn't reprimand him. Emily couldn't blame him. Like so many others, Lupin had been a student of Flitwick's during his time at Hogwarts. So of course, he had a level of affection and admiration for the man.

She did not respond, but instead continued to study the readout. There was additional information: time of the attack, duration, number of assailants. The tactics team would break down the details and note anything useful. What really mattered was what _wasn_ _'t_ there."

"If they get to Harry first, we don't have a chance," she murmured. A new thought forced her to ask, "Anything else? Anything I'm not seeing here? What about Katharine Wood?"

"They found her broom destroyed." His expression tightened. "There's no indication she survived, though they didn't find a body. Maybe she escaped, maybe they captured her. It looks like we've lost her."

Hermione's expression tightened as a pang of guilt shot through her. Oliver Wood had been a good friend of hers, a feeling that, against her better judgement, to recruit the girl, who had barely been seventeen. Was that a result of her being too sentimental or too desperate for new wizards? They didn't exactly have that many already. If they continued to lose wizards like Wood, the Resistance would have no hope against the Pure Order. She forced herself to continue reading through the other half of the detailed report. "There's no mention of her owl."

Bones nodded at the readout again. "No, General. He wasn't recovered. Our people who prepared the report say that he likely perished."

She looked up. "Never underestimate an owl, Lieutenant." She looked to her right. "Owls are very resilient creatures. Hopefully, she was able to attach a message to him" She fixed her with a gaze that had withered the less resilient. "Or are you ready to give up now?"

"No, ma'am," she said zealously. Hermione nodded before turning to Teddy.

"Lieutenant, please find Victorie and tell her to come here. I need to speak to her immediately." About ten minutes later, Victorie Weasley, Hermione's personal envoy as well as her niece, walked through the door. The young woman wore her hair back against her neck, like a blonde river and her dark red uniform contrasted notably with the general's more subdued attire, as did the badge that identified her as a commander. Yet, even in her conservative attire, she was still extremely beautiful to look at, mainly due to the Veela in her from her mother. This, partly, was why Hermione had made her her own personal emissary.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked as she took a seat across from Hermione. As usual, Hermione did not waste time on small talk. She flicked her wand at an adjacent cabinet, causing a bottle of Firewhiskey and two cups to float onto the table.

"You need to go to London right away. The International Confederation of Wizards is gathering at the Ministry of Magic for an emergency meeting, including President Daxon of MACUSA. I need you there to speak on my behalf. Tell them I insist that they take action against the Pure Order. The longer they bicker and delay, the stronger the Order becomes." She leaned toward the other woman. "If they fail to take action soon, the Order will have grown so strong the Ministry will be unable to do anything. It won't matter what they think."

Sella indicated her understanding. "With all respect: Do you think they will listen?" Hermione sighed as she filled her glass.

"I don't know." Hermione took a deep gulp. "So much time has passed. There was a time when they were at least _willing_ to listen. And of course, the Ministry's makeup has changed. Some of those who were always willing to pay attention to me have retired. Others have since passed on, unfortunately. Some of those who have replaced them have their own agendas. Game of Thrones gets a lot of things right." She smiled ruefully. "Not all politicians think I'm crazy. Or maybe they do. I don't care what they think about me as long as they take action."

Victorie grumbled angrily. "That's not fair at all, Hermione. You were one of the best Ministers in history! You made so many great changes! Granted rights to lower classes, improved House-elf rights! You helped heal relations between the goblins and the Ministry, eroding centuries of grudges. It's not fair that you were forced to resign! After all that, and they just dumped you like a bag of bloody garbage!" Hermione sighed, mournfully shaking her head.

"You're right. Yes, all I'm remembered for is the Minister who let the Pure Order grow right beneath her nose for decades and failed to notice. The minister who failed to prevent or stop the attack on Hogwarts, not even realizing what was happening until it was over…" Hermione sighed as she rubbed her eyes, covering them.

"Reforms don't mean a damn when the Daily Prophet's front page is splashed with pictures of Hogwarts burning and the bodies of children. Not that I blame the public. Practically everyone lost a loved one that night. An entire generation of young wizards, practically wiped out." Victorie's face softened.

"I remember, Hermione."

"In a single night, the peace that we had fought so hard for and lost so much for burned right along with Hogwarts. We all lost something that night. It broke all of us in one way or another, but Harry… I understand why he left the way he did. He had already lost so much. His parents, his godfather, his friends and mentors… but he was finally happy. He had Ginny and the kids. And then…" Hermione twirled her glass. Victoire nodded **.**

"I miss them too. I'm still amazed that Ginny can get up every morning and keep at it. She works hard down in Maintenance. If I lost all my children…"Hermione took another gulp.

"How are the little angels?" Victorie snorted, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a magical photograph. Three children looked out from it. A pair of twins, boy and girl, and a younger girl. Both girls took after their mother, with the same hair and natural beauty. The boy was handsome as well, but took more after his father, having his father's devilish looks. However, they all had the same naughty smile, clearly indicating that they inherited an adventurous nature from both their parents. As well as the twins continuously punching each other.

"Angels? Hardly. Remus and Nym are nine, and Violet's seven! It seems like just yesterday they were toddlers fighting in their playpen. Mum says that they love New York, but Nym keeps asking when me and Ted can come visit. She can't wait to start attending Ilvermorny." Victorie sighed sadly.

"Being away from them bothers Teddy a lot, though he won't say anything to me about it. You know about his… parental issues. When I was pregnant with the twins, he was always adamant that he would be very influential in our children's lives. He writes to them as much as he can, but it still eats at him." Hermione nodded, reaching for Victoire's hand and holding it. Unprofessional between a General and a lower rank, sure, but not between two loved ones.

"I understand. They're part of the reason we're doing this. The whole goal of the Resistance. To make a better future for children like them to live in. That's what keeps me going. I don't intend on losing anyone else to the Pure Order. That's why we need Harry, now more than ever. For what he represents. The reason why Supreme Leader Salazar wants him dead so badly. He can bring hope back to the Wizarding World." Victorie nodded, clasping her hands together.

"I'll do all I can to ensure the Resistance gets the voice we need. Even use a bit of the old Veela charm. But why don't you go yourself, General? It's been a few years. I'm sure that the Confederation will listen to you. And if there's one thing Hermione Granger's good at, it's getting in people's faces and getting her way." Hermione let out a giggle as she finished off her third glass.

Her smile thinned. "I might make it to the Ministry, yes. I might even be able to deliver my speech. But I would never, never get out London alive. I would have a terrible 'accident,' or become the victim of some 'deranged' radical. Or I would eat something that didn't agree with me. Or encounter someone who didn't agree with me." She composed herself.

"It's safe to say that a lot of people would love to see me dead. The goblins still have a grudge against me for the break-in at Gringotts. The Pure Order wants me dead with a passion. Word is that they've put a bounty of my head so large that it makes the one Harry had during Voldemort's reign as chump change. Not to mention all my old political enemies who still have a grudge. So… yeah, going to London would not be a good idea." That got a laugh out of both women. The moment, however, was interrupted when the door burst open, and in barreled none other than Bill Weasley. Both women goggled in shock.

"Bill?"

" _Dad_?" Bill paused, taking a moment to collect himself as he breathed heavily. Safe to say, he wasn't as fit as he used to, or as young. He was already past fifty, after all.

"Hey, Vi." He quickly kissed her on the forehead before turning toward a still surprised Hermione.

"Bill Weasley! What the bloody hell are you doing here?!" Bill's role in the Resistance mainly consisted as being a spy: as he was still working in Gringotts, his main mission was to essentially be the eyes and ears of the Resistance inside the bank, trying to catch any transactions between the goblins and the Pure Order in order to shut down sources of revenue for them. This was way more dangerous than it sounded, given that goblins were notoriously neutral and would have punished Bill harshly if he was caught. He plopped down into the seat next to Victorie, still breathing harshly.

"I know, but I needed to deliver this to you in person. Plus, I needed to get out of Gringotts for a bit and lay low. Things just got chaotic back there." Hermione narrowed her eyes.

"Is it the Pure Order?" Bill nodded.

"Kinda. It has something to do with an owl they're looking for." Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Could it be?

"Apparently, it popped up in the Black Forest. Came across several goblins trying to… settle their debts with a client."

"Did they take the owl?" Bill shook his head, and this is when the smile appeared on his face.

"No… but you're not gonna believe who has it now." Hermione kept a cool head. This was good news. The owl had escaped the Pure Order after all. They didn't have the map. But…

"Who has the owl, Bill?" He drummed his fingers on the desk.

"Ron." Both Hermione and Victoire gasped in shock, gaping at Bill, clearly not expecting this news.

"Tell me everything." Hermione ordered.


End file.
